


We were warriors

by copper_head



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Anger Management, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious!Santiago, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copper_head/pseuds/copper_head
Summary: Santiago comes back to the USA and tries to get something that at least resembles a real life. He knows it won’t be easy. But he can try, he wants to try. He can do it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Triple Frontier ruined me, so I give you more brotherhood, more heartache, and finally some good things for those boys, because they deserve it.  
> Also, English is not my first language and it's the first fanfiction I've ever written - I tried, though. Please, let me know what you think!

Santiago doesn’t go to Sydney.

He stays in the south, moving every few months and works odd jobs that have nothing to do with his skill set. He’s way past trying to make a change. Lorea was his last.

He knows he’s not safe as long as he stays in South America but doesn’t really care whether the drug lords that are looking for him find him or not.

(Sometimes, late at night, he wishes they did.)

* * *

He lives like that, one day after another, for fourteen months, ignoring the pain in his knees and inside his chest, until he can’t take it anymore. He gets a phone but doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know what to say or whether he should say anything at all. Words fail him when he tries to text and everything he writes sounds wrong, so he deletes it. Types something else and deletes that, too.

 _How’s it going out there? -S._ , is what he settles on, eventually. He doesn’t like it, either, but it’s a start.

Catfish’s reply comes three days later. _It’s okay. How’s down under?_

 _Never went,_ he types back and this time the doesn’t have to wait for an answer.

_We miss you brother._

Santiago’s hands shake as he types, _Safe?_ and hopes Frankie gets what he means.

_Yeah, wanna come home?_

So, apparently, he still isn’t being considered a criminal back in the States and nobody cared about Redfly’s death enough to link it with any of them. Which is good, actually, but Santiago tries not to think about how that knowledge makes his conscience whisper louder in the back of his head. Tries not to think at all. Two weeks later he gathers his belongings – all of them fit inside a backpack – and leaves the shithole he’s been living in.

Redfly is dead, but Santiago isn’t, even if he feels like it. 

* * *

Frankie is the first person Pope goes to see after getting off the plane and renting a car. He wants to go straight to William like he did last time, he really does, but doesn’t think he’s ready just yet.

They meet outside Frankie’s house, because it’s late and his kids are already asleep. Catfish looks tired but hugs him tight and claps him on the back with the force Santiago himself isn’t capable of. Frankie, a dependable shithead he is, calls him ugly and swears at him in Spanish with usual fondness. Pope had been speaking nothing but Spanish for the past year but now, suddenly, the language almost makes him feel like he is where he should be. _Almost_ at home.

“How did that review turn out?” Pope asks when they step away and lean back against the side of Frankie’s car, shoulder to shoulder.

“You wouldn’t fucking believe it,” Catfish laughs, shaking his head like _he_ doesn’t actually believe what he’s about to say. “They looked into my papers, saw that I was a spec op and the next thing I know, there’s no evidence that the coke was mine and they’re apologizing for any inconvenience.”

“Jesus, Frankie,” Pope laughs with him in relief. Even if there was some abuse of power involved, Catfish deserves to be left in peace after all he did for this country. Apparently, Santiago’s not the only one that thinks so. “You better count your blessings, man.”

“I do. I’m done with that shit. I’m not taking any more risks,” Frankie says and his eyes drift towards the dark windows of his house. “I’m still grounded, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Pope says, and he means it. Fish was born to fly, and it sucks that he can’t.

“Anyway, what are you gonna do?” Frankie asks, looking back at him.

“I don’t know,” Santiago shrugs and tries to keep his tone light. The need to come back was so strong that he didn’t make any other plans except, well, getting here. “Solve crosswords for the rest of my life, maybe.”

“Bullshit,” Catfish scoffs. “You can’t sit on your ass for more than a few days. Remember the first time you got shot on a mission?”

Oh, he remembers. The pain in his left knee keeps reminding him that getting back to work right after leaving the hospital was a big fucking mistake and the pain in his right is a solid proof he didn’t learn his lesson the first time around. He was young and stupid back then. Now he’s just stupid. “I do. What, you’ve got any other ideas?”

Frankie is silent for a moment. “Ironhead mentioned they need the instructors at the training center. They offered him a job, but he refused, I guess. You should ask him.”

Santiago makes a noise of acknowledgement. He may have desecrated his oaths, but his skills are still the only thing he has. Not so long ago, he thought he could – _they_ could – use them to make a change in this world and finally get the reward they deserved. Maybe he could use them now to get something that at least resembles a real life.

“I will,” Santiago promises and as he says it, a child starts crying somewhere inside the house and the light is being turned on in one of the rooms soon after.

“Uh huh, I think my lady needs me,” Catfish sighs and straightens, and Santiago doesn’t know if he means his wife or his baby daughter. Both, probably. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Pope says, because it is – Frankie has a family. Responsibilities, and all. People that need his attention. He gets it.

Frankie pulls him into a hug once more, short but tight. “Glad you’re back,” he mutters and steps back. Pope gets one last pat on the shoulder and then Catfish turns back towards his house.

Watching the door close behind his friend, he thinks, _me too_ and gets back to his car. 

* * *

The next day, the same way he did last time, Santiago goes to William’s pep talk. He sits in the back of the room, behind all those young soldiers and watches the backs of their heads. Waiting, he questions his life choices. Ironhead doesn’t blame him for Tom’s death, Pope knows that much. It doesn’t exactly mean he will be welcome, though.

Anyway, it’s too late to leave now, because Retired Captain William Miller is being announced. He enters the room and takes his place in the front, all eyes focused on him, Santiago’s included.

Ironhead didn’t change at all. He’s everything Pope remembers when he thinks about this man – wide shoulders and confidence, lean, solid muscle and soldier’s honor. In jeans that hang low on his hips and dark blue long-sleeve t-shirt, William looks like he always did – painfully handsome.

Ironhead starts and speaks about the incident in Publix, word for word like he did last time. But then he takes a deep breath and continues, and Santiago hasn’t heard _that_ before.

“And eleven months ago,” William says, and something claws at Santiago’s chest from the inside. “Before I was dragged away by some bystanders, I managed to punch another guy’s teeth out. All because he bumped into me on the street and wouldn’t apologize. I was the best of the best…”

Ironhead goes through his speech and doesn’t falter over his words, as if he still believes in what he says – because he does, Pope realizes, and going on an illegal mission that contradicts it all couldn’t change anything. Obviously.

As William wraps up, the room erupts in enthusiastic applause. Pope doesn’t take his last chance to slip away unnoticed, he gets up instead, watches his friend squeeze past unexperienced soldiers with hero worship shining in their eyes and answer a few _thank you, Captain_ s with his own _good luck_ s.

And then Will sees him and doesn’t hesitate even for a second, doesn’t give Santiago time to doubt his decisions before he drops his papers on the nearest desk and _laughs_ , going straight for a hug.

Santiago can hear himself chuckle, too – in relief and happiness both – as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around William. They stay like this, close to each other, for a heartbeat too long for the embrace to be a simple, friendly hug. Pope doesn’t care what they look like – with everything they’ve been through together, nothing is simple between the two of them anymore.

“Good to see you,” Ironhead says and steps away with a smile that makes Santiago believe his words. “How you’ve been?”

Pope cocks his head in a movement that doesn’t mean anything in particular but is his usual evasion of an actual answer. “And you? What’s the speech count?”

“This version? Forty six. Two hundred thirty one altogether.”

There’s nothing Santiago can say to that, being aware of the reason that made it hard for his friend to control himself again. But as it seems, Ironhead isn’t thinking about his anger issues, he just stares at Santiago with a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. Amusement looks good on him.

“What?” Pope asks in confusion, because he really doesn’t know what’s so funny.

Will makes a gesture that indicates Pope in general. “Your hair, man.”

Ah, that. Santiago chuckles and reaches up to brush the curls back from his forehead. “Yeah, I need a haircut.”

“Leave it,” Will replies. “You look good.”

Santiago is suddenly very grateful for the years of experience he has in managing his inappropriate feelings, as they’re the only thing keeping him together at the moment. He nods and smiles to let Ironhead know that he might actually consider it. “Dinner?” he asks.

“Dinner,” Ironhead agrees. “Come on.” They grab their things and William reaches out, squeezing his shoulder and pushing him gently towards the exit.

* * *

He missed pizza. Not good pizza though – the cheap, greasy, mediocre one that became sort of post-mission comfort food for their team at some point in the past. As if able to sense it, Ironhead takes them to the tiny place near his and Benny’s apartment that serves just that – Santiago isn’t surprised, but being here again floods him with nostalgia nonetheless. Squeezed at the table, they order the food and William chuckles at him when Pope takes his first bite and _groans_.

“So, what’s your plan?” Millers asks eventually, when they’re both down to their last slices.

Santiago swallows, sips on his coke unhurriedly, and stifles the urge to say something about crosswords again. “Find an apartment and get a job, I guess. Catfish said they need people at the training center?”

Will stops stirring the ice in his drink to look at him. “They do,” he says, slowly. “You think you’re up for it?”

Santiago pretends to be very interested in the remains of his pizza to avoid looking at his friend. He can see the furrowed brows and the questioning look in the blue eyes in his peripheral vision anyway. “I am,” he replies, and actually feels confident that it’s true. Considering all of the things he can and would _want_ to do, he doesn’t have much choice.

Ironhead makes a sound like he isn’t exactly convinced, but doesn’t press the matter any further, thankfully. “Give them a call, then. They’ll probably hire you right away.” Will sits back and reaches for a napkin. “Where’re you stayin’?”

“I don’t know yet,” Pope answers and looks up at William now that they’re discussing his housing situation and not whether he’s mentally fit for a job. “Stayed in the hotel near Catfish’s last night, I might just get a room for longer. Drop by Frankie’s for dinner, sometimes.”

Ironhead nods and sips his drink contemplatively, as if Santiago said anything even remotely interesting. “Benny moved out,” he says, and Pope is suddenly very confused by both his words and casual tone. “His room’s free, so you can stay there until you find something for yourself. If you want.”

“Benny moved out?” Santiago asks, sitting up. “What happened?”

William shrugs like his brother moving out isn’t a big deal, crosses his arms over his chest. “He’s got his own place, now. A girlfriend, too. They live together.”

A girlfriend. “Oh. Okay,” Santiago replies, even if he’s no less confused. Benny having a girlfriend isn’t much of a shock, he had quite a few over the years when they were on active duty. Benny living with her, though? Apparently, when he was busy ignoring reality, things have been changing everywhere else.

“Yeah, I know,” Ironhead chuckles. “But he can tell you himself. I’ll have him come over, he’ll be happy to see you.”

While William calls his brother, promises him a six pack and intentionally doesn’t mention Santiago’s presence in the States, Pope pays the check. On their way back to Miller’s car they get the beer, and only after Santiago has thrown his backpack onto the backseat and fastened the seatbelt, Ironhead asks, “So?”

“So, what?” Pope replies, turning his head towards his friend. William raises an eyebrow and gives him an unimpressed look.

“You want Benny’s room or not?”

Santiago hoped he would get away with not giving an answer for a little longer, but as it seems, Ironhead wants him to decide and the thing is, he _does_ want that room. He’s also perfectly aware that saying yes would be like shooting himself in the knee, so to speak. He can already imagine what living with Will would be, even for a short period of time. He can picture the domesticity beyond what they’re used to, Ironhead’s constant proximity, quiet evenings and coffee in the mornings. Not to mention, Santiago is generally far from being well these days. He doesn’t know if he can trust himself to keep control, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stay careful all the time or else William will realize what his friend’s lingering gazes truly mean.

But right now, Will is patient and waits, while Santiago takes his time answering him. “Are you sure?” he breaks the silence, eventually. _It can be a big fucking mistake_ , he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to.

“Hey, I asked, didn’t I?” Miller says, and his voice is all warm confidence. “I’m sure. You’re takin’ it?”

Santiago breathes in. _It’s a mistake_. “Yeah, I’m taking it.” 

* * *

“Holy shit,” Benny says, looking over William’s shoulder. “Look who’s back.”

Benny rounds his brother where he stands in the living room doorway and walks further into the apartment. He crosses the distance between himself and Santiago in three long steps and throws his arms around him.

Pope wants to laugh, but Benny squeezes him so tight he can’t breathe – it’s okay, he doesn’t need to – so he just hugs him back.

“Great to see you, Benny,” Santiago says, when the younger Miller finally leans back and lets him take a breath.

“You as well,” Benny answers in an unusually quiet voice, smiling just a little bit. He steps back, but stays close, and in general acts as if he thought he’d never see Pope again. Which, now that Santiago thinks about it, could actually be true.

Benny has an ugly cut on the bridge of his nose and another on his eyebrow, which means he’s back in the cage and fighting. The bruises he sports are yellow or pale green, almost healed now, and Santiago thinks the kid never looked better.

“Did you win that fight?” Pope asks, even if it isn’t necessary – Benny clearly has won, it’s in the way he carries himself, tall and straight-backed.

“Hell yeah, man,” Benny says with a smirk, always ready to brag about his victories. “You fucking bet I did. You told him?” Benny directs the question at his brother, and William shakes his head from where he’s leaning against the door frame and watching their reunion.

“No, I thought I’ll let you boast about it.”

“What’s up?” Santiago pushes, because the brothers wear identical smiles and it must be something big.

Benny lifts his head a little higher. “I signed in with the UFC,” he says, and _holy shit_ , if that’s the reason, then the younger Miller definitely has the right to be cocky. “My third fight.”

Pope looks from Benny to Ironhead and back and sees it – the Millers’ pride. Now Santiago can understand why William isn’t exactly fazed by his brother getting a life of his own. Benny finally got what William’s always wished for him and if that’s the case, the older Miller would probably be fine with Benny moving not only to another apartment, but also to Australia. Or the moon.

“Jesus, Benny,” Santiago can’t help but laugh and judging by the younger Miller’s smile, it’s an appropriate reaction to the news. “Of course you signed in with them, your place is in the UFC.”

“Money's good, too,” Benny adds, taking his chance to brag, and falls down onto the couch.

Not I-can-afford-a-Ferrari good, Santiago assumes, but Benny’s in his thirties now, so if the UFC still offered him a contract, there’s nothing to complain about and they’re all aware of that.

“And what, they let you drink?”

“Yeah, for another week,” Benny chuckles and turns to William. “So you’d better give me that beer you promised, bro.”

Ironhead rolls his eyes but doesn’t even try to hide a fond smile as he moves to get the beer from the kitchen.

“I heard you’ve got a girlfriend, too,” Santiago says to Benny when they’re left alone for a moment.

“Kelsey,” Benny replies, nodding, and something in his eyes softens. “Man, you’re gonna like her.”

Pope marvels at the fact that Benny is in love for a second too long and before he can say that he can’t wait to meet her, Will is back with their beer.

“You should’ve seen that fight, Pope,” Ironhead says, passing him the can and rounding the couch to sit next to his brother. He sounds so proud as if _he_ won the fight and not Benny. “The guy tapped out, second round.”

“I guess I’ll just have to see the next one, then,” Santiago answers and feels his chest tighten at the look the Millers give him.

 _This is it_ , he thinks when Benny pushes his brother away to make space for Santiago between them and proceeds to look for the fight’s highlights on YouTube. Pope still believes he’s making a mistake here, that he should keep his distance and stay the fuck away from the USA. He’s greedy and stupid, and wants things that he’s not supposed to want, and because of that he’s going to fuck everything up like he did last time.

He knows all of this, and still he can breathe deeper now than he could for a past year. He missed Frankie, missed Benny and William. The longing to be with them again, to _live_ and not just exist, was unbearable and while he can’t ignore the feeling that coming back was _wrong_ , he also can’t ignore the relief he feels when Ironhead tells his brother that Santiago will be staying in his room, and Benny just laughs, making up the reasons William is the worst roommate ever.

Pope knows it won’t be easy. But he can try, he _wants_ to try. He can do it. 

* * *

Turns out, it’s _always_ a little harder than you think it’s gonna be. He should’ve known that by now.

Living with Will is no hardship, until it is, because for someone so responsible Ironhead can’t cook for shit. The guy could live on cereal, sandwiches and takeout, with scrambled eggs being probably the only decent meal he’s capable of. Sure, Santiago missed American food and was happy to get his hands on real burgers and everything, but after a few weeks of only that, he craves a home-cooked dinner. Or home-cooked anything, really.

Another thing that shouldn’t be a problem – and not that it is one, not exactly – are Will’s constant, mindless little touches. Santiago doesn’t _mind_ them, he’s just painfully aware of them every single time they happen, which is all the fucking time they’re together. He knows the reason for that, knows the Miller brothers and how they act around each other. Perfectly professional while on duty, in private William and Benny have always been pretty much in each other’s personal space, arms around shoulders, chokeholds and fights without malicious intent. And, apparently, Benny might’ve moved out, but William’s need to poke, nudge and pat stayed. For Pope, the communication through casual touch is easy and natural, so whenever Will reaches out to slap him on the shoulder or punch him in the arm without any real force, he usually responds in kind. He just needs to _always_ remember to make sure his hands don’t linger, don’t stray where they wouldn’t be welcome.

With the food thing, he breaks one Tuesday morning, when the pain in his knees wakes him up way too early for his liking. Annoyed and uncomfortable, he gets up and shuffles to the bathroom. Later, with a mug of coffee in one hand, he goes through the cupboards in the kitchen and whatever they have in the fridge, thinking about the options. Those are limited – there’s only so much he can make, but unless he settles for those scrambled eggs, it will still be something beyond William’s nonexistent culinary skills. The thought makes him feel a little better.

Eventually, Santiago decides on pancakes and bacon – easy, homemade and still pretty fucking American – but they’re short on supplies if he wants that, so he finishes his coffee, grabs his earphones and heads out to the nearest grocery store.

He gets to stretch his legs and it helps with the pain, if only a little. Upon coming back he’s sure that as long as he remembers to keep shifting his weight, it won’t get any worse today. With that in mind, he starts on the breakfast, because he _really_ wants those pancakes now.

Bacon is sizzling on the frying pan and he’s almost all the way through the batter, when he sees William enter the kitchen in his peripheral vision. It’s intentional, Ironhead knows better than to sneak up on someone with spec op’s reflexes, especially when they have heavy metal blasting in their ears. He gets close, throws his arm around Santiago’s shoulders and pulls one of his earphones out.

“Morning,” he rumbles, voice deep and rough, sounding both sleepy and kind of confused. And way too close to Pope’s left ear.

Ironhead’s also shirtless, smells faintly of soap and shampoo, the same ones Santiago uses, because they share, and well, it’s nothing new. They’ve seen each other naked countless times before. Even these days Will rarely bothers with a shirt after he had a shower and Pope’s snuck enough glances to know that the twin scars on his left side, front and back, where the bullet entered and went through, are still pale pink and not pearly white yet. (He also knows the curve of William’s spine, the way his shoulders narrow down to his hips.) Nothing new, nothing to get excited about.

“Morning,” Santiago answers, reaching to his pocket to pause the music and stuff his earphones inside.

“Someone feels at home,” Will chuckles softly, right into his ear, and there’s something like a pleasant surprise in his words.

“Yeah, well,” Pope snorts, grinning, and flips the pancake on the frying pan. “It was your idea to let me stay here. That’s what you get.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Ironhead says, all about facing the consequences of his choices like always, no matter if it’s his shitty pension or Santiago’s attitude.

“Then sit your ass down, ‘cause you’re about to get impressed,” Pope tells him, not even faking his confidence. Will chuckles again and moves to comply, but before he draws his arm away completely, his hand drags over Santiago’s collarbone and shoulder, grazes the back of his neck and the scar there before he leaves to find a hoodie. It’s not even skin on skin contact, all through his t-shirt, but it still makes Santiago take a deep breath and think, _get your shit together_.

He does, fast enough not to draw attention to himself, then stacks the pancakes on two plates and tops them with bacon when Ironhead comes back to the kitchen and sits down at the table. He puts William’s food in front of him and takes his seat on the other side. Pope wastes no time, just shoves the pancakes into his mouth and okay, _that’s_ exactly what he needed.

And then he has to pause mid-bite, because Ironhead groans around his fork and when Santiago looks up at him, Miller is sprawled in his chair, head thrown back and throat bared to view. Pope barely manages to take a sip of his coffee instead of either snorting into it or choking on it.

“Fuck me, this is good,” William says, sitting up and putting his elbows on the table, and digs into his food like it’d run away from his plate if he didn’t hurry.

“Now you’re glad to have me around, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ironhead answers with his mouth full of pancakes. He chews, swallows and then looks Santiago straight in the eye, smiling just the tiniest bit. “I may even want to keep you.”

Santiago can’t help but snort at this and William laughs when he’s been told to shut up and eat his fucking breakfast. The morning goes slow just like that, until it’s eleven and Santiago really needs to get going or he’ll be late – he got that job in the training center without even trying, works three days a week for a few hours and teaches the new recruits to shoot. And when he puts on his shoes and Ironhead tells him to buy milk on his way back, he thinks, _it feels like living_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's family time, but that doesn't always mean fun, or even your own family. Sometimes, it just means dealing with shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everybody that commented/left kudos/read the first chapter. You people give me life.

The thing is, Redfly knew all along.

Santiago had always been careful, or he thought so at least, but Redfly was too perceptive not to notice that Pope likes both beautiful women _and_ men. But there was DADT, and when that got repealed, Tom made him promise that his crush on William wouldn’t affect their work. Santiago had kept that promise and remained perfectly professional throughout their career up until their retirement. And when that came around, he ran away like a coward, because he’d suddenly lost the sense of duty that helped him keep his feelings in check in Ironhead’s company.

So, when he came back to talk the boys into the heist, Tom brought up Pope’s informants only partially because of security reasons. Redfly knew that all those attractive women were a distraction, something to think about that wasn’t a certain attractive man. Tom asked, though not in these words, _You’re still not over him?_ The answer was simple.

Pope is fairly sure Frankie knows, too, but if he does, he’s kind enough not to mention it. The Millers, on the other hand, are another thing whatsoever. Contrary to what one would assume, Ironhead is not even the biggest problem here – if he were to learn about Santiago’s feelings for him, those feelings that stretch way beyond friendship and brotherhood, William would probably try to spare him the embarrassment. He’s a considerate man, so Pope imagines he would turn him down firmly but politely and remain his friend afterwards. He’d continue treating Pope like he does now, only with a little bit more pity and considerably less casual touch.

But Benny? No. Benny would be _furious_.

He is no less a little brother to Santiago as he is to William and even the sole thought, the possibility of Benny hating him is unbearable. And because there are no secrets between the Millers, neither of them can know.

A knock on the bathroom door makes him jump and luckily Santiago finished shaving a while ago and was just staring at himself in the mirror now or he would cut his throat open. “Hey, you’re alive in there? We gotta leave in fifteen minutes,” William says from the other side of the door.

“Coming,” Pope answers, reaching for his shirt. An actual dress shirt, he has those now, along with a wardrobe full of clothes instead of what only fits into a backpack.

Having gone through with reinforcing his resolve, Santiago pushes his heart’s matters to the back of his mind. There’s more trouble than this in trying to return to society, when all you know is gunfire and blood, and violence. William knows it better than anyone else, and that’s the reason he sometimes reminds Santiago about therapy with gentle and casual _it helps people_ or _think about it_ , but never gets forceful. It’s also the reason they have plans this evening – Frankie invited all of them for dinner, and while Pope is still slightly hesitant, Ironhead managed to convince him to try and spend some time with, well, other humans.

He buttons up his shirt, makes sure he’s as presentable as it gets, and leaves the bathroom. It wouldn’t be wise to make Esme wait for them.

* * *

They get Benny on their way and arrive to Frankie’s five minutes early. Catfish greets them on his doorstep and when Santiago manages to close the door behind them, the hallway suddenly gets very loud and very crowded.

Frankie’s two older kids squeeze in beside their dad, excited to see the Millers, and Benny raises his hand for both Elena and Miguel to jump up to give him a high five. Will’s right behind, hand extended for a low five and it all looks like their usual greeting, so Santiago, next in the line, goes for a fist bump. Miguel clearly doesn’t remember him, which is understandable, because he’s only like what, nine now? But – quite surprisingly, even if she’s three years older – Elena does.

“Uncle Santiago!” she squeals and reaches out to knock her knuckles against his.

Pope can see in the boy’s eyes that he still doesn’t recognize this uncle Santiago, but since his sister does, Miguel smiles wide enough to present all of his missing teeth and bumps Pope’s fist with his own.

“Come in, come in!” the siblings herd them further into the house and get them settled in the living room, while Fish vanishes somewhere with a promise that he’ll be back in a minute.

Hearing that their guests have arrived, Esme appears in the doorway like a ghost. “Boys, welcome,” she smiles warmly at the Millers first, then makes eye contact with Pope and it’s the moment he understands that inviting him wasn’t her idea. “Santiago.”

“Esme,” he says, trying for a polite smile. “You look great.”

“Kelsey says sorry,” Benny cuts in, getting Esme’s attention, and Santiago makes a mental note to thank him for the rescue later. “She’s got a night shift.”

Santiago met Kelsey last weekend, when he and William dropped by to help Benny with putting some Ikea furniture together, because apparently the kid sucks at reading instructions. Pope expected someone of a ring girl type, like the ones that hang around MMA fighters, but Kelsey turned out to be everything but that. Slim and short, with dark hair in a messy bun, she was a beautiful woman, if in a rather unconventional way. Santiago still can’t believe that he thought she looked average at first – thankfully, seeing her smile and watching the way Benny looks at her, he came to his senses quickly enough. But, what’s the most important, Kelsey’s fun. She’s fun, sassy, quick-witted, _and_ a surgeon in training. All in all, she’s amazing and Pope really likes her, just as Benny said he would.

“Of course. Poor girl, she’s always at work,” Esme smiles at Benny once again. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Elena, Miguel, don’t bother our guests.”

And without another look at Santiago, Esme turns on her heel and leaves the room. Pope barely has the time to send a meaningful glare Ironhead’s way and get an encouraging smile in return before Frankie comes in with his baby daughter on his hip.

“Look, Lucia, who’s that? _Tío Santiago_ ,” Catfish tells her, and turns to his friend. “Wanna hold her?”

She’s cute, maybe a little older than a year and a half, with dark curls and big eyes. And it’s not that Santiago doesn’t like children – they’re okay, as long as they’re not his to raise. He’d held Elena and Miguel in the past, Tom’s daughters, too, he just doesn’t think it’s a good idea this time. But just as he opens his mouth to say no, Benny comes closer with Frankie’s older kids in tow.

“Go on, Pope,” Benny insists, gesturing towards Lucia.

William appears at his shoulder on his other side and nudges him lightly, nodding at the baby. “Try it.”

“All right,” Santiago reaches out for her and with a little bit of maneuvering between him and Fish, Pope gets an armful of a baby. “ _Hola, Lucia_ ,” he says, rocking her gently in his grip. The girl just looks back at him with wide brown eyes and he doesn’t dare to breath, feels like no one else is breathing around them. And then Lucia smiles, makes a happy baby sound and grabs at his fingers.

“Well, fuck _me_ ,” Ironhead breathes low enough not to be heard by anyone else but Santiago and he sounds impressed. Pope saves his words and voice to memory for later when he’ll be alone, preferably in the shower, but otherwise ignores it, looking around.

Elena and Miguel are trying, and failing, to stifle their laugh and Benny looks, for the lack of a better word, betrayed – by whom, Santiago isn’t exactly sure, until Catfish chuckles and pats the younger Miller sympathetically on the shoulder.

Pope finally gets why they were all so weirdly insistent. He fights the smile that pulls at his lips at Benny’s glare, then turns back to the girl and asks, pronouncing his words very carefully, “Who’s your favorite uncle, Lucia? _Tío Santiago?_ ”

“…Tiago!” she answers, and her siblings burst in giggles.

“Oh, come on,” Benny groans. “She doesn’t like _anyone_.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Ironhead tells his brother, only to rile him up further, and it gets him a very discreet middle finger in exchange.

“It looks like she likes _someone_ ,” Santiago notices helpfully in the middle of trying to get Lucia to say his whole name. But then Esme calls out from the kitchen that the dinner is ready, and Pope stops with a quiet sigh.

“Go, help your mom,” Catfish tells his children and takes Lucia back into his arms. He turns to go and put her to bed, but before he does, he takes his daughter’s tiny wrist and waves her hand a little. “Say bye bye to uncle Benny, uncle Will and uncle Santiago, huh, sweetheart? Bye bye.”

Lucia repeats after him, if not very enthusiastically, and then Frankie takes her to bed.

William asks Esme whether she needs any help, but the woman turns his offer down, keeping her children occupied with getting the dishes on the table instead, and brings whatever’s too heavy for them herself. Catfish comes back and as they sit down at the table, Ironhead puts himself between Santiago and the empty seat that turns out to be Esme’s when she returns with the last bowl.

Food’s better than anything Santiago’s eaten for the past few years. Benny talks about Kelsey’s work and Pope, in an attempt to become the best uncle they have, asks Elena and Miguel about their school and hobbies to learn what they’re interested in. At Pope’s inquiries, the girl excitedly announces that she wants to start taking Brazilian jiu-jitsu classes, and Benny’s probably to blame for putting ideas in her head. Frankie tells her they’ll see about that, but doesn’t make any promises, and Santiago has a feeling it’s not because Catfish disapproves of his daughter’s choice. The dinner goes smoothly enough, and during the short few moments it doesn’t, William’s knee pressing against his makes it better.

Esme isn’t exactly hostile towards him but has the air of cold disapproval about her throughout the whole evening. She was never particularly fond of him, but while she’s thought of him as a troublemaker before, Pope’s sure he’s something far worse in her eyes now. He can only guess how much she knows about the heist and Tom’s death, but whatever’s her opinion of him, it’s probably very accurate.

When they’re done, Catfish leaves his family with the Millers and pulls Pope to the kitchen to help him with the dishes. With a dish towel in hands, side by side with Frankie in front of the sink, Santiago waits for his friend to speak.

“So,” Frankie says eventually, elbows deep in the water. “You look better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” Fish answers, passing him a plate and Santiago has no idea what he means. “Like you sleep more than four hours a day. And eat more than once a week.”

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Pope scoffs, drying off the plate and then putting it aside. It’s true that his old jeans were a bit loose on him when he came back, but Frankie’s exaggerating.

“Maybe. But it was still quite bad,” Catfish says, and some of William’s habits, like randomly, wordlessly handing Pope an apple, suddenly make much more sense. “Listen, can you and Ironhead look after the kids this Friday? Esme works in the afternoon and I’ve got some business to take care of.”

“Some business?” Santiago repeats. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound suspicious _at all_.”

“I told you, I’m done with that,” Fish says and sends him glare before going back to washing a glass. “It’s real business, okay? Are you gonna help me here or should I drop them off to Esme’s mother?”

“Sorry, Frankie,” Santiago answers quietly. “Sure, we’ll look after them. Is Esme fine with it?”

“Don’t worry about her, brother. She’ll come around.”

They finish washing the dishes in companionable silence and somewhere between a frying pan and a salad bowl, Pope finds himself glad that he let William persuade him to come. Contrary to what he told Ironhead before, dropping by for dinner was never in his plans, and Frankie’s wife still scares him like hardly anything does, but it’s okay. After all, some people, unlike others, just see him for what he really is and are not stupidly supportive when he appears on their doorstep after a spectacular fuck-up, and rightfully so. It’s a reality check that he probably needed, having been too comfortable in this new life up until now.

They get going soon after, and Esme accepts Santiago’s thanks with a stiff nod, but also a small, polite smile, so Pope counts it as a win. After a round of hugs with Catfish and two series of high five - low five - fist bump with his kids, Pope and the Millers take their leave. When Ironhead pulls over to drop his brother off at his place, Benny, still in the backseat, manages to wrap his arms around both William and Santiago, almost choking them in the process.

“Get the fuck outta the car,” Ironhead tells him as a goodbye, but chuckles when he pushes Benny away.

Benny ignores his brother and turns to Santiago, giving him a long look similar to the ones he used to give him after missions to see if Pope is really in one piece or just saying so. “You boys don’t party too hard without me,” he says.

“We’ll try,” Santiago smiles at the younger Miller. “See you soon.” Only then Benny nods, takes his arm back, and opens the door to leave.

William gets them back on the road and drives in silence for a few minutes before he speaks. “You’re free tomorrow, right?”

Santiago makes sound of confirmation. “Why?”

“’cause you look like you need a drink, man,” Ironhead says, looking at Pope out of the corner of his eye, and cracks a smile that Santiago mirrors without a thought. If Will’s right, it seems like Benny’s playful warning was actually a well-thought one.

“Yeah, maybe,” Pope sighs. "Don’t get me wrong, Frankie’s kids are great, it was just… a little much.”

“I know, it gets like this sometimes,” William says, and they’re both aware that they’re not talking only about the children. Ironhead hesitates a second, before suddenly losing some of the confidence he always speaks with as he adds, “I shouldn’t have told you to go.”

“Come on, I don’t regret going,” Pope answers, eager to change the subject. He doesn’t like how unsure Ironhead sounds. “Aren’t you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Group therapy at one p.m.,” William says, looking away from the road for a moment to smile at Santiago again and it’s much better than the apologetic tone from before. “I’ll get myself together until then.”

“All right,” Pope chuckles, because it’s not that he’s going to turn the chance to drink with Ironhead down. “Pull over, I’ll make a run. What are we drinking?”

They get back to the apartment and don’t even bother changing their clothes, which means William, sprawled on the couch with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and two top buttons of his shirt undone, looks ridiculously handsome. Pope reminds himself to avert his gaze and throws back another shot. Ironhead doesn’t keep up with him, drinking probably only for Pope to have some company, and Santiago can really appreciate both that and the momentary peace of mind the alcohol gives him. Good thing that Pope doesn’t have to worry about doing something very stupid when he’s drunk, at least not any more than when he’s sober. He could be wasted, and it still wouldn’t affect the self-control towards Ironhead which is ingrained in his brain. It makes the night fun and relaxing, and as he falls onto his bed a few hours later, Santiago knows William was right and that was exactly what he needed.

When Pope wakes up in the morning, his hangover kicks in with a dull headache and the impression of a desert in his mouth. He closes his eyes against the rays of sunlight that sneak into the room through the curtains, but before that, he catches a glimpse of something on his nightstand that gets his attention. When Santiago looks again, he sees a glass of water and some painkillers, even if he’s sure he didn’t put them there last night. They’re within his reach, so he rises up on his elbow just enough to swallow the pills and not spill the water all over himself. As Pope flops back on the bed to get back to sleep for another hour – just because he can, retirement has its perks, after all – there’s only one thought in his hangover-fogged mind. He loves this man.

* * *

The dinner at Frankie’s, his wife’s quiet judgement, the whole family thing makes Santiago think. On Friday, when Catfish arrives at their apartment in the early afternoon with Miguel, Elena and Lucia and leaves them with helpful instructions and an unhelpful _good luck_ , Pope doesn’t have _time_ to think. Babysitting turns out to be extremely boring and difficult at the same time, and both him and Ironhead are clueless when it comes to dealing with kids. It feels like the day lasts at least three years, and by the time Catfish is back, Santiago is sure his friend is a hero in more ways than those he was already aware of. But after that comes the weekend, full of insistent thoughts about other children, another family. Redfly’s family.

Then William leaves for three days to give some speeches upstate, and without the distraction he provides, Pope more often than not finds himself getting back to the mindset that made him want to return to the USA in the first place. The need to do something, to try and make things better or else he’ll go crazy with guilt and regrets, slowly becomes too much for Santiago to handle. When he came back last night, Ironhead looked at him with a shadow of worry in blue eyes, but bid him goodnight without asking any questions, for which Santiago was more than grateful. Earlier today Will came back from his morning run and didn’t ask either, and now, sitting at their kitchen table and drinking his third coffee, Santiago hopes Ironhead will ignore his friend’s poorly hidden crisis when he finishes his shower, too.

William appears in the doorway, pulling a hoodie over his head, his hair still damp and sticking in every direction, and goes to pour himself coffee.

“Listen,” Santiago says first to avoid giving Miller a chance to push for answers. There has been another thing on his mind lately, and while he’d rather not talk about it either, he knows he has to, eventually. Might as well do it now. “Since I’m getting my paychecks and all, I should probably start looking for my own place. Get out of your hair.”

“Yeah, about that,” Ironhead says and sits opposite of him. “You know Elena wants to take BJJ classes, and Miguel would like to start playing guitar. Catfish gets by these days, but he said there’s no way they can afford it.”

“You’re thinking about helping them?”

“We could,” Will shrugs. “It’d be easier for us if we live together, and we won’t have to worry about birthday or Christmas presents.”

“Makes sense,” Santiago nods, and has a hard time believing William is actually asking him to stay. For their extended family’s sake, he gets it, but still. “Do you think Fish will be okay with us paying for his kids’ after-school shit?”

“‘course not. But he will let us, if it’s for them.”

Frankie signed up for the heist, because he wanted something better for his children, because Pope had told him it’d change his baby’s life. In the end, all they could do was to give the money to Tom’s family, and Santiago knows now that he can’t change anyone’s life, but maybe he can still do _something_ for Catfish’s kids.

“All right,” Pope agrees, before his friend has the time to change his mind about letting him stay in here. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay,” Ironhead sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Now, are you gonna tell me what’s up?” he asks, and – since he’s a one perceptive son of a bitch – it’s not surprising that he knows something’s wrong. It isn’t surprising that William cares and wants to help, either, but Santiago would rather save him the trouble.

“What do you mean?” Pope answers, eyes fixed on the contains of his mug.

Will sighs like Santiago is testing his patience and gives him a hard look. “Don’t lie to me,” he says slowly. It’s an order and anybody else would have understood it as such, but Pope knows better. Knows William well enough to hear the _please_ that isn’t there, and it makes it all worse that Ironhead has to ask him for such a thing.

Santiago lifts his gaze and takes a breath. “I’m going to see Molly after work today,” he says, because it’s better to get it over with quickly.

“Pope,” William warns in the answer. “It’s a stupid idea. She doesn’t want to see any of us, she made that much clear.”

“I know. I have to,” Santiago says, feeling the need to explain himself. “I need to tell her I’m sorry and if she wants to blame anyone, it should be me.”

Will curses under his breath, but doesn’t argue, even if he looks like he wants to. He’s silent for a moment, but then he sighs, and his eyes soften a bit. “It’s not that I can tell you what to do. Just be careful, all right?”

* * *

Molly and the girls know it was all his fault. Santiago can see William kept his promise and reminded them that Tom was a hero. He also knows Molly isn't angry for herself, she's angry for her daughters, because they lost their father and Santiago is the one that dragged him back into the danger, got him killed in the result. To be honest, he's really fucking surprised Molly kept that a secret.

It's been a long time since he saw her, and he curses himself for forgetting what kind of a woman she is. He is also suddenly reminded that Molly can throw a punch when her fist connects with his face, a ring on her finger catching on his skin. Though his instincts scream at him in protest, he doesn't even raise his arms, just steps back when she pushes him once and then again. His left knee bursts with pain as he staggers back to keep his balance, but it doesn't hurt as much as things Molly says to him. Nothing of what she says hurts nearly as much as the look Tess gives him right before her mother slams the door in his face.

When he comes back, William is in the kitchen, fixing a sandwich and Santiago doesn't walk in, just hovering in the doorway. He feels tired, feels like he needs to lean against the frame just to stay upright and it's only partly because of his fucked-up knees.

Ironhead, sensing his hesitance, gives him a minute. In the meantime, he finishes up, washes his hands in the sink. "So," he starts, turning away from the counter. "How did it…" and then cuts himself off as his eyes land on Santiago's face.

"Yeah, I deserved that," Pope says slowly and, unable to look his friend in the eye, watches William's shoulders drop instead. He gets nothing but a low _mm-hmm_ as an answer. Then, ignoring the food he's just prepared, Ironhead brushes past him in the doorframe and Santiago's sure he deserves that, too.

He's in the process of gathering his strength to move when Will reappears and suddenly he's being pulled and pushed, gently but firmly, until his legs hit the edge of the couch in the living room and, faced with Miller's strange insistence, he doesn't really have any other choice except sitting down. He's too exhausted to even consider resisting.

William taps him lightly on the forehead, twice, and makes a sound of approval when Pope takes the cue and leans his head back. Santiago only has a second to think, _What the hell?_ , because Ironhead’s still standing, hovering over him, way too close for comfort or maybe not close enough, and then he smells the antiseptic as Will sweeps the cotton pad over his cheekbone. It stings a little in that dull, familiar way, but Pope doesn’t flinch, doesn't move at all and barely even dares to breath. He sits still as his friend rubs the dried blood off his face, tends to the cut and, at last, dabs some ointment on it.

Finally done, William pats him, a little too hard, on the other cheek in a way that's usually reserved for Benny. The way that says _you got this, you're okay_ or _good job_ sometimes, or maybe even _I'm proud of you_. Then he steps back, and his gaze changes into something between exasperation and slight amusement. Santiago finds it much easier to look up at him now.

"I told you, man," William says. "It was a stupid idea."

And it’s good – Ironhead giving him shit is something comforting and definitely easier to comprehend than Ironhead taking care of him when he isn't exactly severely wounded and bleeding all over himself.

"Yeah," Pope chuckles breathlessly. "Yeah, you did."

Miller nods in satisfaction, moves to put the meds away and throw the cotton pads into the trash. Santiago just falls back against the cushions, closing his eyes. He's tired. So very, very tired. His left knee aches, but it's a little better now that he doesn’t put weight on it. All in all, he feels _old_. He's glad he went through with seeing Molly, though. William knows, he thinks, that Pope did what he did only for himself and still doesn't call him out on being an egotistical asshole. Even if he doesn't really approve of bothering Tom's family, he seems to understand, and Santiago couldn't possibly ask for more.

He doesn't ask, but gets more, nevertheless – there's cool metal against his cheekbone, and when he opens his eyes, he sees a can pressed to the side of his face. "Thanks," he drawls, taking the beer.

William says nothing, just falls down onto the couch next to him. He settles, turns on the tv, opens his own beer without rush and then he extends his other hand in Pope’s general direction. There is a sandwich on the plate he holds, cut in half.

They eat and watch young Harrison Ford kicks some Nazi asses in _the_ _Last Crusade_. Santiago takes all that is being offered and tries not to feel guilty about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santiago hopes everything will get easier in time, and what he gets right after is: adrenaline, but not in a fun way, little playground adventures, and William, who apparently lost any sense of personal space and friendly boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be safe - this chapter contains description of William's canonical anger issues. It's not overly graphic and nothing really happens, but I think it's worth mentioning. Tags are updated.  
> Those, who read this thing and left kudos have my eternal gratitude, and those, who took their time to comment are the reason I keep writing. Thank you!

In fact, the visit Pope paid Redfly’s family didn’t change anything. But it left him feeling somewhat lighter and at least allowed to keep going without the insistent noise inside his head, letting him focus on people close to him, those that actually tolerate his presence. This peace, this domesticity that lacks violence but overflows with trouble to deal with shit, is weird and confusing, and harder than he could’ve expected, but he tries and hopes it will all get easier in time. It’s what he can do.

They've been rather busy for the past few days, and before they know it, the only three things in Santiago and William's fridge are light, space, and ketchup. Short on everything else, they have no choice but to go grocery shopping and on any other day it wouldn't be a big deal, but what doesn't really occur to them until they're on the store's parking lot is that it's the second of July and the place fucking swarms with people. Wonderful.

And so Pope leads the way through the aisles, Will trailing behind him with the cart, maneuvering between unsupervised kids and guys that carry their own weight in beer. Trusting William to follow him, Santiago turns left and squeezes past a loudly arguing family that takes way too much space, eager to find whatever they need and get the hell out of here as soon as possible. He crouches to take corn flakes from the lowest shelf, because Ironhead is a boring man and likes corn flakes, when he hears a noise from somewhere behind, followed quickly by Miller’s voice.

"Sorry," he says, rather off-handedly, and it sounds like a common courtesy in a place as crowded as this one.

"Watch it,” comes the answer, and those words, laced with uncalled-for aggression, make Pope turn his head. “You're blind or what?"

It’s the guy with the family, turned away from his wife and apparently redirecting his rage at Will, who must have bumped into him or his cart. The woman immediately stops antagonizing her husband and, voice unnecessarily raised, adds another angry comment, like William committed a crime by interrupting their argument. Pope immediately feels sorry for the daughter, a very embarrassed teenager that looks like she’s on the verge of changing her last name and fleeing to Canada to start a life away from her parents.

"I said," Ironhead says slowly, his patience visibly thinning, and Santiago’s instincts scream in his head. _Danger_. "I'm sorry. Wasn't on purpose."

“Then maybe you should be more careful,” the man continues, clearly with no other goal in mind than making a scene. He moves, standing like he’s ready for a fight now, and at the view Santiago straightens so fast the pain shoots through his knees in protest. He covers the distance in a few quick steps, pushing past people that stand around and watch the drama unfold and forces his way between the family and Ironhead.

"Let it go," he throws over his shoulder and the warning in his voice must be clear enough, because the guy takes a step back. But it’s William that’s important here, with his hands gripping the cart’s handle so tight his knuckles turn white, so Santiago focuses on him only. He reaches out and puts his hand on Will’s arm above his elbow, but it does nothing to get his attention and Pope’s thoughts turn into a panicked, endless string of _no, no, no_. "Hey, look at me," he orders, going for the soldier’s reflexes, knowing that Miller would respond to an order better than he would to a plea. “ _Ironhead_."

William’s eyes snap to him and for a split second Pope is sure he’ll be the one pressed against the shelves with a hand around his throat – and he’s fine with it, can take it if necessary, better him than a random person. But then Ironhead blinks and the bloodlust is gone, replaced by realization. And this, the clarity in the blue eyes is what matters now. With the horror they can deal later.

“It’s okay. You’re all right," Santiago tells him, holding his gaze as Will draws a sharp breath. Pope fishes the car keys out of his pocket and peels one of Ironhead’s hands off the handle. He lets go easily enough, and his fingers shake, but wrap around the keys when Santiago presses them into William’s hand. “Here, wait in the car. I'll be there in five minutes, okay?"

Ironhead nods in answer and his breath is steady, so even with the silence and obvious distress, he seems well enough to leave on his own. Santiago lets go of him and William’s gaze immediately drops to the ground. He turns and goes straight for the exit, avoiding looking at anybody, and Pope watches his retreating back until Miller disappears around the corner.

Jesus. Santiago takes a deep breath, leaning some of his weight on their cart, careful not to push it away. He’s used to danger to the point nothing can really faze him anymore and he’d be able to keep cool in any situation, or he thought so at least. This, however, was uncharted territory, and more adrenaline packed into last two minutes than he’s had since he moved into Will’s apartment. All’s good, crisis averted, but seriously, in the same place, _twice_? It’s just fucking ironic.

“You people,” Pope turns to the family and shakes his head at them and the expressions they wear on their faces, because he couldn’t help himself now even if he tried. “have a death wish.”

The man opens his mouth to say something, but his daughter, the only sensible one, cuts in just in time. “Dad, that’s enough. Come on,” she says, and _that’s_ a plea. “Mom?”

The girl manages to contain her parent’s need to start another shitstorm and with an apologetic smile sent Pope’s way, she ushers them away. Santiago waits until they get out of his view and, ignoring the curious glances that some people give him, thinking they’re being sneaky about it, pushes the cart towards the checkout counters.

On the parking lot, Pope throws the bags on the backseat and then climbs into the car next to William, sits sideways to face his friend. And just keeps sitting, not saying anything, because what he sees breaks his heart more than a rejection ever could and no words can make it better. With his head bowed, Will holds the steering wheel in a crushing grip and Santiago is sure it must be painful by now.

After what feels like an eternity, Ironhead finally huffs a chuckle – a quiet and rueful one that Pope hates the sound of. "I almost did it again,” Will almost growls, full of anger that is redirected inwards now.

"You didn't," Pope says firmly, not missing a beat. "You hear me? You didn't, no one got hurt.”

He stretches his hand towards Ironhead and doesn’t even mean to make contact in case it’s unwanted, just to offer it maybe, but William moves so quick he has no time to react. Miller twists in his seat and catches Pope’s wrist in one hand, reaching for his arm with the other. He does nothing else, just holds on and breathes, and after the initial surprise passes, Santiago relaxes, laying his free hand on Ironhead’s, but not trying to break his grip. William may squeeze a little bit too hard, but it’s nothing he can’t take.

It’s uncomfortable and Pope can feel the bones in his wrist grinding together under Ironhead’s fingers, but what he really thinks about is the way Will’s shoulders are curled forward, how all of this, this _shame_ , doesn’t suit him. But to see as your own failure something that is actually a fight for control, fought and won, is very much like William.

Although it takes a few long minutes, Ironhead’s hold gradually loosens, until he barely puts any pressure to the touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers eventually, raising his head a little and still avoiding eye contact. He rubs his thumb in careful circles over the inside of Santiago’s wrist, an apologetic gesture that makes Pope suppress a shudder, and then lets go altogether.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Santiago assures. "All right, switch with me, I'll drive. Let's go home."

William looks up for a second, brows furrowed a little and he hesitates long enough that Pope starts to wonder whether he said something wrong but has no idea why what he said just now, of all things, would be inappropriate. A moment of confusion later, Will breathes a soft _okay_ and gets out of the car to walk around it and Santiago manages to crawl behind the wheel.

After he fastens his belt, Ironhead sinks low in his seat and crosses his arms, clearly not in the mood for a conversation and the silence stretches between them as Pope drives them back. They’re halfway home when William turns his face away from the window to look at Santiago. “Pope.”

Santiago glances back at him, humming in question to let his friend know that he listens.

“Next time,” Ironhead says, his voice stronger now. “we go to Walmart.”

It takes a few long seconds for Santiago to recognize it as a joke. William’s fucking _joking,_ and it makes Pope laugh in surprise and relief, his nervousness leaving him along with the sound.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, his eyes leaving the road again and it’s Santiago’s luck that they’re waiting for the light to turn green, because Ironhead smiles at him softly and he can spare a moment to watch it. “Whatever you want, man.”

* * *

It's late morning next day when Pope hears the door to the apartment being unlocked and opened. He knows it isn't Will just yet, but Benny – he still has his keys and lets himself in whenever he comes over. Santiago gets up from the table in the kitchen, puts his mug in the sink and goes to meet the younger Miller.

"Hey," Benny greets, shutting the door behind him. "What's up with him? The text was vague."

Then, in the second he catches the cut on Pope's cheekbone, Benny freezes with a frown on his face that immediately makes Santiago regret not mentioning any details to him.

"It wasn't him," Santiago says quickly to put an end to the train of thought he can see going through Benny's head, as if he couldn't notice that the cut is a few days old and already healing.

Pope's assurance seems enough to dispel any suspicion Benny has and Miller visibly relaxes, like whatever happened, it’s not a big deal as long as it wasn’t between his brother and Santiago. "Who was it, then?"

"Molly."

Benny pauses in the middle of taking off his shoes to look up at him. "Holy shit," he says, sounding genuinely impressed. "You've got _balls_ , man. She was very happy to see you, eh?"

"Thrilled," Santiago answers with a rueful smile, but decides to drop the subject here. "Listen, William went for a run, should be back soon. Just– talk to him, okay? I'll leave you two to it."

"Got it. Pope?" Benny asks and Santiago hums in question, grabbing his keys and wallet. "You were there, right? You've seen it."

"Yeah," Pope breathes, locking eyes with Benny, the need to be honest hitting him like a bullet. "I didn't know what to do. I could see him getting angry and…” he shrugs, feeling just as lost as before. “wanted to calm him down. I sent him back to the car and just sat with him for a while. He can tell you more."

It's in the moments like this, when Benny looks at him as if he reads between the lines of what's being said, knows more than he's supposed to, that Santiago is reminded that the younger Miller is actually much smarter, much more perceptive than he lets people think. For a split second, it makes Pope's blood run cold in his veins in fear – _no, no, no, he mustn’t know, ever_ – before Benny breaks into a smile.

"Good," Benny chuckles and reaches out to clap Santiago on the arm. "You saved him from paying for someone's medical bills again. Thanks."

Pope can only nod in answer, because there's no use in saying that there's nothing to thank him for, that he didn't do shit, it was all William's effort to control himself, to be a better man. He hugs Benny goodbye and leaves for work, where he relies on muscle memory and years of experience for the whole day, because his thoughts are far away from the shooting range, running persistently towards Ironhead.

* * *

The days pass slowly, each hotter than the last one, if that’s even possible. Now that the holidays are in full swing, Santiago and William, being exceptionally cheap babysitters, take care of Catfish's kids more often – Frankie says they like it better than the visits at their grandma's place and of course they love it when their uncles look after them, Will fucking _spoils_ those kids. Elena's one word is all it takes to get her a piggyback ride, and whenever Miguel wants to play airplane, Ironhead grabs him by the clothes on his back and just swings the boy around. Pope, being the only person except her parents that Lucia tolerates, is usually stuck with her, but she starts to warm up to William these days, too.

By trial and error, but they've figured out the tactics of babysitting – make the kids tired, don't let them get bored or hungry. By now it's easy enough, and unless the little princess decides she just misses her parents and needs to see them right away, the days spent with Frankie's children are rather fun and uneventful.

It's the make-them-tired part of the usual plan, when they're on their way to the nearest playground, Elena and Miguel running ahead, while Pope and Ironhead walk the pace that Lucia dictates.

"I hope Frankie knows what he's doing," Santiago says, squinting in the bright July sun. "It's the tenth time he leaves them with us and he still said nothing about that business of his."

"Only the eighth," William corrects patiently. "We gotta trust him. He'll tell us when he can."

And Santiago knows it's true, tells Ironhead as much – it's just his concern speaking, because they rarely see Catfish for more than a few minutes at once, and whenever they do, his best friend always looks exhausted. Frankie repeatedly says he's okay, but it's obvious that he's worried about his family's wellbeing, and there's only so much Pope and Ironhead can do to help him. It's good that neither BJJ nor guitar classes are suspended for the summer, at least his kids are somewhat occupied.

After the walk that takes up twice as long as it normally would, due to Lucia's short steps, they finally get to their destination. Santiago takes the girl to the playground and lets her explore on wobbly legs, while he sits on the bench and keeps an eye on her to make sure she doesn't kill herself in the process or eats something she's not supposed to. In the distance, on the patch of grass stretching beyond the fence that surrounds the playground, William's silhouette towers over two smaller ones as they pass a ball among themselves.

Pope doesn't even catch himself zoning out as he follows Lucia with his eyes, until a woman walks up next to him. "Can I sit here?" she asks, pointing at the free space on the other end of the bench that Santiago sits on.

"Sure," Pope answers, blinking up at her in surprise. She's pretty, probably in her mid-thirties, in jeans and a t-shirt that emphasize her curves nicely.

"How old is your girl?" the woman asks, and Santiago realizes he doesn't know the answer, which troubles him too much to even think about clarifying that Lucia isn't actually his.

"Uh," he says, very eloquently. He should really ask Frankie about his kids' birthday dates. Pope's fairly sure Lucia isn't two years old yet, so that's what he goes with. "Almost two."

Kate, as she introduces herself, chats with him just like this, keeps asking questions and talks about her son, a kid in the red t-shirt named Jake that plays with two other boys near the swings. Santiago doesn't really care though, so he answers shortly and doesn't put any real effort in making conversation, keeping his gaze focused on Lucia. Past her, he sees Elena, Miguel and Will talking, and then the kids, first one and the other one next, raise their arms to wave at Pope in wide arcs. Miguel pauses to pull at his uncle's wrist, and Ironhead, whose amused exasperation is clearly visible even from a distance, ends up waving at Santiago, too. Pope barely contains a laugh and waves back, not wanting the kids to feel ignored.

Probably sensing Pope's general disinterest in the things she has to say, Kate gets up soon after and with a polite goodbye she goes to collect her son. Sparing her one last look and an off-hand _bye_ , Pope watches as Miller grabs the children and starts to walk back towards him, one kid under each arm. He looks _ridiculous_. Dragging Miguel and Elena a little further and then dropping them unceremoniously on the grass, William pulls a bill out of his pocket and hands it to the girl, sending the older kids to get ice cream, Santiago assumes. As they throw the ball at him and run off towards the shop, Ironhead jumps effortlessly over the fence surrounding the playground, then bends down a little to take Lucia's tiny hand and steer her back to Santiago.

"We leave you for half an hour," Will says, taking the seat beside him. "and the single mothers are already hittin' on you?"

"Can you blame me?" Santiago asks, feigning absolute confidence. He means it as a joke, hoping to draw a laugh from his friend, but Ironhead barely smiles.

"No," he answers shortly, like random women flirting with Santiago on the fucking playground is the most obvious thing in the world. Pope expects William to add something about the ticking clock, as if _he_ is the one actively looking for a partner, but his friend busies himself with making a rather one-sided conversation with Lucia instead. She's kind of fussy, letting them know it's time for keep-them-fed phase, so Will and Santiago get down to it in cooperation learned through the years and years of working together to complete much more difficult objectives. Between the two of them they successfully wipe Lucia’s hands clean and feed her some fruit, their synchronized moves making Pope spare a thought to the fact that whatever it is he has to do, William's help makes an invaluable difference. Feeding a baby or trying to live a normal life, it’s Ironhead that makes it all easier.

"More orange?" Santiago asks, offering Lucia another piece, but the girl whines in protest. She doesn't use words all that much yet. "Okay, no more orange."

"Thanks," Will says as Pope splits what's left in half and shares it with him. After that, they fall silent, waiting for Elena and Miguel. Since his small slip of control, Ironhead's been a little quieter, a little more thoughtful, and Pope understands he has a lot on his mind. As keeping an eye on Lucia is always justified, Santiago sits back and takes that opportunity, watches as Miller, bathed in the soft afternoon sun, engages the girl in a simple game of _can I nudge you before you slap my hand away_. William’s right here, but the look in his eyes is distant, and Pope just wishes his friend wasn't so hard on himself.

"Tell her!" Miguel appears right beside them, his sister two steps behind. His tone borders on a whine, which lets Santiago assume the siblings spent the last fifteen minutes arguing. He’s thankful for a distraction though, because he’s probably been staring at Will for a moment too long. In public. "She thinks she'd win if we raced on the way back and I know I'm faster. Tell her I'm right."

“You wish you were,” Elena mutters with the ice cream stick in her teeth, rolling her eyes. She’s a girl with an attitude and Pope can’t wait for her teenage years. It’s going to be fun.

"Sorry to break it to you, man," Santiago tells the boy, completely serious. "But you have no chance against your sister. And I mean this one."

Pope moves his head to indicate Lucia, and the little girl's siblings laugh, the argument between the two already forgotten. "I'm not joking. She's a real demon of speed," Santiago continues, getting up and gathering their things, perfectly aware that he's getting himself into making fake racing commentary for the whole way back. "Lucia knows she's gonna win, but she's just giving you some time to get ahead of her. I'm telling you, you two better start running."

The kids seem to enjoy Pope's rather mediocre attempt at keeping them entertained and play along until Miguel gets into the older brother mode, tired of making fun of his little sister, and takes Lucia’s hand, keeping her pace for the rest of the road. Santiago walks right behind, side by side with Will, their elbows brushing occasionally, and if this – looking after the kids that aren’t yours and having people you love within an arm’s reach, some of them a phone call away at most – is retirement, maybe he can get used to it after all.

* * *

The weather changed overnight. Once it started raining a few days ago, it just wouldn’t stop, so yesterday with Frankie’s kids was all cards, coloring books, a guitar practice for Miguel and new _Star Wars_ movies Santiago wasn’t even aware existed.

“A spaceship pilot,” he answered, when Miguel asked him who he’d like to be in the SW universe. “And I’d be the second best pilot in the galaxy.”

“Who’s first?” Elena asked, suddenly interested in their conversation.

“Your dad,” Santiago told them both, because it’s important to know that your dad is cool. “He kicks ass, but don’t tell him I said that.”

The kids found it amusing that he didn’t care to precise whether he meant the compliment or the ass, and then proceeded to discuss everyone’s roles in the galaxy far, far away. Elena wants to be a Jedi, like Rey, Miguel a bounty hunter, and together they decided that William would definitely be someone very important in the resistance and Lucia’s an Ewok.

But the continuous rain is a bitch to Pope’s old injuries and the nights, because of the lack of any distraction, turn out to be longer than ever, filled with dull pain and mostly sleepless. Whatever meds he rubs in, it never makes much difference, and while some stronger painkillers do actually work, they also make him feel like shit more often than not. So Santiago does what he does best – endures.

It’s two a.m. when Pope, bored to death and not in the mood for reading anymore, gets up and shuffles to the kitchen, like he did for the past few nights. It’s the same – something to drink, maybe a sandwich, because he couldn’t care less if it’s healthy to eat at such a late hour or not, a walk from one room to another that doesn’t help, but at least makes his knees less stiff. Santiago does it all again and ends up sprawled on the couch in the living room, tv on mute and playing a documentary about sharks.

There’s a sound of the door opening and closing, then quiet footsteps and finally Ironhead’s low whisper comes from behind, where Santiago can’t see him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Pope blinks up at him as Will leans his elbows on the back of the couch, looking sleepy and kind of adorable in the weak, pale tv light. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Knees, again?” Will asks, and when Santiago makes a dismissive sound, he nods as if he was given a clear confirmation. “Okay, roll your pants up, let me take a look.”

“What?”

“Come on, it’s the third night in a row you’re up and it’s clearly not gettin’ any better. You gotta sleep sometimes, man.” And Santiago agrees with him, but still can’t see why any of that would be his problem, until his brain catches up to the fact that in order to know it’s the third night Pope’s up, _Ironhead_ must’ve also been awake and his _I couldn’t sleep anyway_ is bullshit. Santiago’s restless midnight strolls do wake him up and he’s too nice to say so, so he tries to help, instead. Jesus. “Anytime tonight would be great, Pope.”

And because saying no to Will is something beyond his abilities, Santiago sits up and shifts back to make space for his friend and roll up his sweatpants as he was told to. Miller sits on the couch and as soon as he has the access, he takes hold of one of Pope’s legs and straightens it carefully, shifting a little closer. Santiago fights down a heavy sigh.

“What did the doctor say?” William asks, and his hands are strong and gentle as he moves them down Pope’s calf, searching and assessing.

“To get used to the pain,” Santiago answers lightly and sees William raise his eyebrows in question. “Not in these words, but that’s what she meant.”

“Physical therapy?” Ironhead continues with his inquiries, switching to Santiago’s other leg.

“Not worth it. It’d just get back to what it is now. The damage’s done,” Pope shrugs, because he’s accepted it a long time ago, and Will hums in answer.

“She’s right about the joints, can’t do anything about it,” Ironhead says when he’s done, tapping his fingers lightly on the scar tissue over Santiago’s knee. It’s not pretty, but Pope’s never thought much about it – scars are something normal and expected when you’d been dodging bullets for twenty years, sometimes unsuccessfully. “But some of the pain may come from the tension in the muscles and something can be done about _that_.” William lets go of his legs then, gets up and disappears in darkness for a moment. When he comes back, his fingers are slippery with baby oil – because of Frankie’s kids hanging out at their place so often, they have all kinds of weird shit laying around these days.

“Which one’s worse, left or right?”

“Left.” Pope really has no idea what’s happening and why he allows any of it.

“Right leg down, then,” William instructs, moving to get a comfortable hold. His hands on Santiago’s leg are firm and insistent, pressing hard and Pope hisses in pain, barely managing to stay still in case he jerks and breaks Ironhead’s nose by accident. It _hurts_ , but Will smiles at him a little, and Pope decides that it’s not that bad anyway. “Sorry. Gotta get worse before it gets better.”

“How do you even know what to do?” Santiago asks, because talking is a great distraction and he’d rather focus on Ironhead’s words than his hands right now.

“Benny used to have crazy growing pains. It was bad, and our mom had to sit with him at night pretty often,” Will says, voice growing soft as his thoughts go deeper into the past. “It made her so fucking tired. One night I told Benny not to wake her up and actually took over for the next few years, until the pains stopped,” he continues, and it makes Santiago feel kind of special that Ironhead shares his memories with him so willingly. Like he gets to hear what not many others get to. “And later, Benny’s first physiotherapist, back when he turned pro in MMA. Cool guy. I watched him and asked questions, learned a thing or two, so we could save money on physio when it was something I could do myself. Must’ve worked, 'cause Benny never complained.”

And then, sitting through the pain under Ironhead’s skilled hands, Santiago realizes how blind he has been. Because Will is not okay with Benny starting a life with his girlfriend, not at all. In an epiphanic second between one breath and another, Pope realizes that Ironhead had never had to see his brother go before. It was William that left their family home when he enlisted. Years later, it was William that got engaged and left to live with his fiancée. Now Benny’s moved out and, for the first time in their lives, it’s _Will_ that has been left behind. And while Benny – brave, tough Benny – could take it, Ironhead must now _learn_ how to let his brother go.

“You miss him.”

William takes a deep breath, eyes focused on what he’s doing, and works silently on knotted muscle under Santiago’s knee for a long moment, the rain and their breathing the only sounds in the room. “I guess I do.”

And while that kind of honesty from Ironhead is surprising, his lack of confidence when it comes to Benny is even more so. "He still needs his corner man."

"He changed the club, they finally put some money and effort into him,” Will tells him. “He has all the corner men he needs."

"And how many of them you think actually matter, huh?" Pope asks like he’s explaining something very obvious to a person that refuses to see the truth, which is exactly what it is.

Ironhead finds a particularly painful spot and squeezes hard in retaliation. “There?” he asks as Pope jerks involuntarily, and his innocent tone does nothing to hide what he really means, which is _that’s what being a smartass gets you._ It’s also a definite sign that they’re done talking about Benny, but at least William doesn’t look mad for bringing it up.

Ironhead takes his time, working the tension out, but then his fingers move up, over Santiago’s knee and above it, slipping beneath the rolled up material on his thigh and dig into the muscle there. This time Pope isn’t able to stop the curse that rips out of him along with a groan.

“I know, I know,” Will murmurs sympathetically, knowing _nothing_ , because this – this is a straight up sexual fantasy. Hell, Pope probably used some variation of this scenario at some point, in a moment of weakness, but Ironhead’s touch, while inarguably helpful, doesn’t bring any pleasure, so the situation is, thankfully, as unsexy as it gets. Otherwise, it would get very awkward for Santiago. “All right, I guess that’s enough for this time,” William decides and his touch changes, hands moving in long swipes along Pope’s muscles now, soothing the pain he’s caused.

The phrasing – _this time –_ doesn’t escape Santiago’s attention, but he chooses to ignore it for the time being, moves his legs to the floor and rolls his pants down. He stands up, slowly and carefully, and is still kind of surprised when his left knee doesn’t buckle. His muscles are sore, but also significantly loosened and Pope can’t deny that the whole thing was helpful, if only a little, considering the fact that you can’t undo the years of damage in one night.

“How is it?”

“Better,” Santiago admits readily and smiles down at Will. “Thanks.”

Miller smiles back and nods, getting up. Probably stiff from bowing over Santiago’s leg, he straightens and stretches languidly, head thrown back and arms above his head. His t-shirt rides up to reveal a stripe of skin, low on his abdomen, and a trail of hair – fair even down here – that runs down from his navel and disappears below his waistband. Accentuating the muscles there with dark shadows, the light does wonders to the sight. Pope didn’t think it’d be possible, but as it turns out, it’s somehow way worse than Ironhead walking around completely shirtless. A picture of indecency, that’s what it is. In those few breathless seconds before William’s arms drop to his sides, all Santiago wants is to reach out – to touch, to slip his fingers beneath the worn cotton, spread them over Ironhead’s ribs and then lean in, press kisses to the revealed bit of warm skin. But what he wants doesn’t matter, and reminding himself of that, Pope averts his eyes just in time not to get caught staring. Too close.

“Try to get some sleep, yeah?”

“Sorry to keep you up, mom,” Santiago answers, and it earns him a soft chuckle and an elbow to the ribs. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” Will smiles at him once more and leaves, their shoulders brushing as he goes past Santiago on his way to the bathroom. The light there gets turned on and the door clicks shut, and only then Pope lets out a deep sigh. It looks like both of them have some trouble with controlling themselves recently, but only one is to be blamed for his shitty management of inappropriate impulses. Santiago suddenly feels tired and it has nothing to do with his knees or sleep deprivation.

He turns the tv off and goes back to his room, and as he lays down, he realizes that Ironhead wasn’t as quiet tonight as he’s been since before the Independence Day. He talks and smiles more and is generally a heart attack hazard for Pope like always, like he should be. An inarguably good sign. Maybe it’s not perfect just yet, maybe it never will be, but it’s– _Will_ is better. This man will be the death of him, Santiago’s sure of that, but as long as Ironhead’s fine, he’ll take it. And as far as death goes, he couldn’t have thought of a better one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did somebody order old fanfiction clichés? No?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few unexpected things happen. More often than not, they're both good and bad at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took ages to update, sorry! Life and finals are getting in my way, but I didn't forget about those guys.

After another week of shitty weather and Ironhead’s continuous, infuriatingly casual attempts to ease the pain it causes in Santiago’s joints, the rain stops, and William doesn’t.

Since the first time Ironhead put his hands on Pope’s knee, every next one is quite similar – rather unexpected, though happening usually in the same hours of late evenings, and always justified by reasonable arguments that make Santiago unable to protest. _For balance_ , as Ironhead said, pulling Pope’s right leg onto his lap two days after he’d helped with his left during that rainy night. And Santiago can’t deny that his knees are somewhat better now, or at least don’t hurt like a bitch every time he takes a step, thanks to the regular treatment they receive. Will’s unprofessional therapy sessions _work_ , but as they get gradually less painful, Santiago finds himself more focused on the firm touch of Ironhead’s hands than his own discomfort.

Quick to realize that it could prove to be a big fucking problem, Pope learns to carefully time his showers and take full advantage of the privacy they provide. Should Will decide to pay any excessive attention to him, as he tends to do every few days, Santiago knows he’d rather be safe.

But the fact that Ironhead just tells him to get on the couch and roll up his pants like it’s the most natural thing to do is exactly what makes it hard to understand that he’d act surprised when he comes home one late afternoon and finds Pope looking through his books.

“Hey,” Santiago greets, looking up from the description on the cover that he was reading, something based on Arthurian legends.

For a long moment, William stays in the doorway of his own room and just looks at him, eyebrows raised. And maybe Pope being here, in the space that belongs only to Ironhead – the evidence of it visible everywhere, from the shirt thrown over the chair’s back and old photos of him and Benny in their teens in the frames, to the shelves full of books that take up half of the wall – is an unusual sight, but not one that couldn’t easily be explained. After all, one of the first things Miller told him after he moved in was to feel welcome to borrow a book if he wanted, and well, that’s kind of what Santiago is trying to do. He might’ve done it only once until now, and only because Will didn’t immediately put _Papillon_ back in its place after he finished reading it, but Pope borrowing a book isn’t exactly worth the _what the hell are you doing?_ look that he’s getting at the moment.

“I _do_ read sometimes, asshole,” Santiago says, and it earns him an amused smile from William, the one that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I don’t doubt it,” Ironhead assures, squeezing Santiago’s shoulder in a delayed greeting as he walks past him to sit on his perfectly made bed, long legs splayed wide and arms crossed.

“Then what’s so shocking?” Pope asks, because Miller is still watching him intently.

“Nothing,” Will answers, but there’s a cautious note in his words as he opens his mouth again. “But you must be really fucking bored.”

The comment makes Santiago snort quietly, because of course it’s true and William’s ability to see right through him is almost as funny as it is terrifying. Putting the book he holds back on the shelf, Pope wonders briefly for how much longer he’ll be able to hide what he feels for this man. How much longer before he ruins what they have here. “That obvious, huh?”

“Dude, you were watching _Hell’s Kitchen_ yesterday,” Will points out, and the argument, while clearly made just to keep the conversation from turning too serious, is pretty valid. Santiago can’t say he enjoys the show without lying to William and it’s just one example. There’s more.

“Yeah, maybe I need a hobby,” Santiago says and, sensing that their talk is about to get heavy anyway, falls down onto the chair. The thought of sitting next to Will on his bed, with the man so close and the linen that probably smells of him, is a dangerous one. “Sorry. It’s not that I have nothing to do, not with Frankie’s kids, the job, and everything…”

“Come on, Pope,” Ironhead cuts in, still nothing but kind patience in his voice. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me and you definitely don’t have to apologize for anything, man. It’s normal that you’d get restless.”

Santiago nods, because he knows William is right, but there’s a difference between understanding something and applying it to yourself. And he can’t help but remember what Redfly told him about, what made it possible for Pope to convince him to the heist. That it didn’t get any better after he got out. Since they’re already here, he may as well ask the question – if anyone knows the answer, it’s Will.

“Do we ever stop missing it?”

“No,” Ironhead says calmly, without even a shadow of hesitance, and it’s exactly the answer Santiago was afraid he’d give. “It never goes away. But it gets easier with time, I can tell you that much. We learn to live with it.”

“Yeah?” Pope breathes, for the first time in forever unable to completely trust him and equally unable to stop the wave of bitterness that comes with it. “Because Tom never did.”

And to that Will says nothing, only takes a long, deep breath, gaze dropping to the floor and jaw tightening, and Santiago immediately regrets snapping at him. It’s the truth, they both know it. Another one of those that are easier not to acknowledge, those that bring you no satisfaction when you’re the one voicing them.

But the thing is, Santiago _wants_ it, this peaceful retirement, the well-deserved rest. Always did. Tried to make it better for all of them, so neither of his brothers would ever worry about money, and failed. The best of them is dead, and the rest was left with only a part of what Pope would wish for them. The thing that scares him the most is that even the life he has now will fall apart in his hands, no matter how hard he tries. Tom did try.

“Sorry,” Santiago says eventually, quiet and ashamed. “It just pisses me off.”

Ironhead nods and sends him a small smile to show that it’s okay. He shouldn’t forgive him that easily, not when he’s the one with real issues compared to Pope’s dramatic frustration, but Santiago is selfish enough to take it nonetheless. He wonders whether he has real trouble getting used to this life of strange, quiet safety or he’s just being a dick. If it’s the latter, then at least he can do something for Will to make up for it. Pasta, maybe. Will likes pasta.

“Hey, did you buy the things from the list I gave you?”

As William makes a sound of confirmation, momentarily confused by the change of subject, Santiago stands up and jerks his head in the general direction of the kitchen. “Good, ‘cause I can be a real ass when I’m hungry. Come on, let’s go. You don’t help, you don’t eat.”

“Okay, no need for threats,” Ironhead chuckles, standing up in a smooth motion, and follows after him. “All you gotta do is ask, we want the same thing here.”

The thing being a dinner, obviously, but Will has no idea how that sounds for Pope – a different meaning could be easily put to his words, and in this case, Ironhead _doesn’t_ want what Santiago does.

Opening the recipe he’s saved on his phone earlier and taking out what they need, Pope moves around the kitchen and eventually hands William a cutting board, a knife and an onion.

“Oh yeah? Then show me how much you want it,” Santiago says, because apparently he has some masochistic tendencies that he wasn’t aware of.

“You’re gonna be surprised,” Ironhead promises, and for a brief moment Santiago entertains the thought of taking the knife from him and stabbing himself for thinking this kind of banter would be a good idea.

Will’s already turning away to stand at the counter though, so Pope starts on other ingredients of the sauce and two minutes later catches Ironhead swearing under his breath and wiping the tears away with his wrist. Judging by the murderous glare William throws him over his shoulder, Santiago laughs at him a little too hard.

“Fuck, man, you’ve convinced me. This is what I call commitment,” Pope teases lightheartedly, and if Will wanted to glare at him some more, he can’t do it, because he’s tearing up again, eyes shining and red-rimmed. The sight is priceless on its own, but when Ironhead answers him with an earnest _fuck you_ and a shadow of a smile he isn’t able to fight down, Santiago falls in love with him all over again.

In the end, he may or may not forget the need to hold a gun, to accomplish another mission, to make a difference in the world that not many others can do. Maybe, one day, he will settle down, finally content with the life he lives. And if that day never comes, Santiago knows he will at least have the feeling that he’d tried and the moments like this one to come back to. Blue and pale gold memories of bright warmth and easy companionship, of small touches that burn like fire and words spoken in a low voice, of what could be enough.

* * *

On Tuesday Ironhead takes an early morning flight to give a few more pep talks. It’s really good timing, though, because the three days he’s gone are exactly the three days of the week Pope’s working, so when Santiago teaches some young soldiers how to efficiently kill people, William convinces some others in a different place to use their skills for their country. And if he’s somewhat busy, it’s harder for Pope to think about the silence that greets him as he comes home, and about his knees that don’t get the attention they’d normally do at least once in the meantime.

Stealing Will’s cereal – there’s no one to bother cooking for, no one to cook _with_ – Santiago wonders how the hell did he spend three years, and then some more, away from all the people he cares about if he can’t be alone for three days without missing William like he does now. Or there’s no real mystery about it and he’s just getting more pathetic with age.

Things get better the moment Pope gets to the airport to pick Ironhead up, and Miller, with a smile that almost makes Santiago glad that he left, drops his duffel bag on the floor to wrap his arms around him.

“Good to see you,” Santiago says, patting William’s back and going for safer words than _missed me?_ that would probably make Ironhead laugh. He doesn’t know what answer would be worse, yes or no.

Just as they leave the parking lot, Pope behind the wheel and Will sprawled on the passenger seat beside him, Santiago’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket.

“Frankie,” he says after glancing at the caller’s id and passes the phone to William. “Talk to him?”

Ironhead hits the button to answer the call and Santiago listens to his part of the conversation. “Hey. It’s me, Pope’s driving. …Yeah, or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you. Can’t really blame him. …Mm-hmm, I think we are. Are we doing something Saturday afternoon?”

The question is for Santiago, and he can already guess what Frankie wants from them. “Babysitting the kids, I assume.”

“No, we’re free,” William speaks to Catfish again. “Benny, too, as far as I know. Okay, we’ll be there. See you.”

“So, we’re not babysitting on Saturday?” Santiago asks as Ironhead ends the call and gives him his phone back.

“Not this time. We’re eating hot dogs and drinking beer at Catfish’s.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

After that, Will doesn’t talk much more during their ride nor when they stop for burgers except placing his order and saying that his trip was nothing special, so Santiago decides to just leave him to his thoughts and take him home. But then Ironhead finishes his food, looks up at him from across the table with an unreadable expression on his face, and changes his plans.

“I’ll drive, okay? I want to show you something.”

“Sure,” Pope answers, because there’s not much else he can say to that enigmatic line, and gives him the car keys.

His confusion only rises as Will takes them to a parking garage that is nowhere close to their apartment and chooses a particular spot on the second level, ignoring the fact that the lower two are half-full at most. If he weren’t with one of the men he trusts most in the world, by now Pope would be sure he’s about to get murdered.

“Come on,” Ironhead says, getting out of the car, and Santiago follows after him. It’s late, they’re the only people here, the space silent and concrete-gray around them. Pope can’t tell the reason William brought him to this place until they walk a little farther, a few other cars in a better view now.

There’s a black, nondescript Honda, and behind it – a truck, silver beneath a layer of dust and strangely familiar.

“It’s Redfly’s,” Pope realizes, stopping in his tracks, as if his brain could catch up to what he sees only after saying the words out loud.

He looks back to Will for confirmation and Ironhead nods, watching him with careful attention, waiting for a reaction. He doesn’t get any, not yet, because Santiago still has trouble believing his eyes. But then they walk up to the truck together, and from up close it’s still what Pope recognized is as.

“Molly wanted to get rid of it,” William explains, resting his elbows on the side wall of the bed. “But I just couldn’t imagine someone else driving it so soon.”

Santiago understands what he means perfectly – now that he sees this truck, he’s happy it doesn’t belong to some random person. Tom may be gone, but the truck is still his.

“I keep it maintained,” Will continues. “It needs a check-up, but probably nothing else besides that. You’re gonna say something?”

Santiago knows he probably should, and the only reason for his silence is the knowledge that William was there to take care of everything after they brought Tom’s body home, and he wasn’t. Pope forgets, sometimes, that he just dumped that obligation on his brothers. The reminder is right here.

“Why now?” Santiago asks, leaning his forearms on the tailgate.

“Didn’t know what to do with it before.”

“Now you do?”

Ironhead shrugs a little, like he still isn’t sure. “It’d be good to take it for a longer drive. We could go somewhere for a few days,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the truck’s rear window before he looks back at Santiago. “Besides, I think you could use a change of scenery. Routine isn’t a bad thing, but I know it does get frustrating. Maybe it’d help a little with what you have going on.”

“And what you wanna do, go camping?” Pope asks, because he knows the Millers used to do that when they were kids and still do, sometimes, no matter what extreme conditions they’d experienced throughout the years. “I don’t know, man. I already tried running off to the jungle before. I’m kinda sick of nature after all of that.”

Will is silent for a moment then, and if he didn’t know any better, Santiago would’ve thought Miller’s hesitation has something to do with his rather unenthusiastic response.

“I was thinking more of a road trip,” Ironhead says eventually.

“A road trip,” Pope echoes. “You mean like, cheap motels? Shitty diners in the middle of nowhere?”

“Mm-hmm. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“And you’re saying the speech tours aren’t enough of a getaway for you?”

“That’s different,” Ironhead states firmly, like the difference he speaks of should be obvious, and doesn’t elaborate further. “Look, Pope. It’s just an idea, think about it and—”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s fucking do it,” Santiago cuts in then, because there’s no use in pretending he doesn’t know the answer yet. He’s aware of what he’s agreeing to here, and it’s not a smart move by any means, but stupid shit is what Pope generally does in his life anyway.

“All right,” William chuckles, pleased with the decision, if a little surprised by its abruptness. “Didn’t take much thinking.”

“You had me at go somewhere,” Santiago admits with a shrug, flashing him a quick smile.

But that’s a lie. Will had him much, much earlier.

And now he’s going to take Pope for a road trip. Santiago knows a tactical mistake when he sees one, and especially when he _makes_  one, just like now.

* * *

Saturday’s afternoon comes with a promise of mediocre food and spending some time with everyone Pope considers family, something definitely worth looking forward to. When Santiago and the Millers arrive at Catfish’s house, it’s only Frankie and his two older kids, Esme somewhere in town with her youngest daughter. As much as he hates himself for thinking that, Pope’s glad she’s not home this time.

Here, in his own backyard, Fish looks like he always does – baseball cap and a bottle of beer in his loose grip, broad shoulders and the weariness that he just can’t seem to shake off these days. But there’s something else about him today, too, something very different from the usual annoyed resignation he exudes as he deals with shit. The recognition strikes along with curiosity – Frankie looks a little like Benny after he won a fight, just way more subdued compared to Miller’s fiery excitement. And even if he doesn’t know the reason for it, Pope really likes the change.

They barely have the time to say hello before Miguel brings the ball and manages to bully all his ex-military uncles into playing with him, and so they end up in two teams, him and Benny versus Santiago and William.

“I’m good,” Pope assures in answer to Ironhead’s questioning glance, and when his friend still doesn’t look completely convinced, Santiago winks at him playfully. “Really.”

Will shakes his head at him then, probably very close to rolling his eyes even, but Santiago can see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You boys are ready?” Benny asks impatiently, squinting at them. “’Cause the kid is gonna beat you two on his own and you won’t even notice.”

“We’re ready, Benny,” Pope answers, moving to his position opposite Miguel, and sends Frankie’s son a grin.

“Bring it on, bro,” William tells his younger brother, quiet confidence and amusement instead of worry or shame in his eyes. He looks good like this, should always look like this. Not that Santiago can do anything to ensure that.

“Go!” Elena starts the match, her little brother and three grown-up men diving for the ball as soon as the girl throws it between them.

They all take their match seriously enough, Catfish and Elena cheering for both teams equally. It’s actually a lot of fun until Santiago collides with Benny twice in a row and is suddenly reminded that yes, both of his knees are still shot and damaged. From that moment on, it’s fun with a bit of pain.

Then Pope holds Benny back and passes the ball to Ironhead, who kicks it right between two garden chairs that serve as one of the goals. Not thinking much about it, because he would’ve just settled for a high five if he did, Santiago slams into William and throws his arms around him in celebration, encouraged by the victorious smile Miller immediately turned to him with. The embrace that he was going for would be fine, but in the uncoordinated tangle of limbs that actually follows, Will’s fingers brush over his ribs and the light, too light touch manages to take Santiago’s breath away before it turns into a pat on his side. The moment doesn’t last more than a few seconds and goes unnoticed by exactly everyone present, Ironhead included, but it’s enough for Pope not to go for a celebratory hug the next time he manages to score.

“Oh yeah, five to three!” Benny whoops in victory after another goal, barely even jostled as Miguel jumps on his back. “Who’s the winner, little man?”

“We are!” the boy yells with glee, still full of energy and apparently satisfied with the result. Truth be told, except for the fact that they’re all three times his size, Miguel didn’t have that much trouble keeping up with his uncles.

“Congratulations, looks like you’ve won with the old men,” William says, walking up to Pope and throwing his arm over his shoulders, acting considerably more tired than he has any right to be – that man can go through the jungle and the fucking Andes with a bullet wound in his side and not complain once, there’s no way he’s even close to being out of breath now. “I think we’re done here.”

Before he can get annoyed by Ironhead’s protective behavior, Santiago recognizes the words for what they were meant to be – an offer made by a worried friend. A watchful, attentive friend that probably caught him shifting his weight once too many and decided to suggest stopping the match or else Pope will undone any progress they’ve made with his knees recently just because he’s stubborn and unnecessarily competitive. Taking that offer would be a sensible thing to do, Santiago knows it.

“Speak for yourself, old man,” Pope chuckles just to be contrary, shrugging Will’s arm off, and goes to sit at the table anyway. He’s thankful for the subtle intervention.

Then Benny tells Elena to show him what she’s learned during her BJJ classes until now and lets himself be thrown around by a twelve-year-old, the rest of them busy with helping Frankie with hot dogs, and William leaves Santiago’s side only once to get the plates from the kitchen. With both him and Catfish so close, Benny and the kids within their eyesight, Pope knows that despite any regrets he might have or the pang of guilt he feels at the thought that there should be one man more here, he really doesn’t have any right to complain.

They eat and, perfectly aware that Benny can’t drink as he prepares for his next fight, repeatedly offer him a beer, getting unamused looks in return. They’re almost done with their food when Frankie’s wife comes back home and appears in the backyard with Lucia to say hello, and then both Catfish and Pope crouch and open their arms to see who the little girl will run to. Her decision is unconsciously diplomatic, though – ignoring everyone else, she goes straight to (very surprised and no less touched) Will and only after getting a hug from him, runs to Santiago’s arms. As he lifts the giggling baby up, Pope can practically feel Esme’s eyes on him, but doesn’t have the courage to look back and check what kind of expressions she wears.

The moment he puts the little girl back on her feet, Esme goes inside and takes the kids with her, leaving the four of them alone. Considering the look she exchanged with her husband right before, it’s intentional.

“Listen, boys,” Frankie starts, leaning back against the edge of the table. It sounds like he’s preparing for an announcement, and he has Pope’s and the Millers’ attention focused on him immediately. “Sorry I kept you in the dark for so long, but there’s been a lot of shit going on.”

“Hey, it’s all right,” Santiago answers, genuinely curious about what his friend has to say now. Whatever’s coming, it’s going to be big. “Did you do what you needed to?”

“Yeah, it took some time and effort,” Frankie says, his tone very casual, and Pope knows it means nothing, as it’s exactly the same way he spoke about fucking _coke_. “A lot, actually, because all that bureaucracy is bullshit, but guess who has his license back.”

It takes them all a few seconds of surprised silence, but then Santiago, Benny and William break into wide smiles and heartfelt congratulations, because to say that it’s good news would be the biggest fucking understatement of the year. If Frankie dares to say it’s not a big deal now, Pope might actually punch him.

“Aw, fuck yeah! Catfish’s gonna fly again!” Benny laughs, banging his palms on the table, his loud enthusiasm always the best support he could give any of them. Judging by Fish’s smile, he appreciates both that and the hard clap on his back that follows.

“And as soon as I get the first paycheck,” Frankie directs his words at Pope and Ironhead. “I’m paying for my kids’ classes.” Something in Catfish’s eyes, like a calm determination, tells Santiago that the matter is not up for discussion.

And it’s all good – with his skills, Fish will easily get a job as a pilot, and it means good money. He’s a great father, one that really wants to give his children anything they wish for. Now that he’ll be finally able to do it without the risk that any illegal shit would bring, Santiago knows he can’t argue.

“Okay,” William raises his hands in mock surrender. “Maybe they’ll like us anyway.”

“Guess we’ll have to buy them actual birthday presents,” Santiago says, trying very hard not to think about the fact he’s just lost the only excuse to stay with Will at his place. Not now. “Little guy wants an electric guitar? Or Elena wants to try the drums, maybe?”

“Fuck you, dickhead,” Fish answers and shoves him lightly, but the shove turns into a hug and then his best friend murmurs his thanks to him in soft Spanish.

Santiago can do nothing else than wrap his arms around Frankie and tell him, equally low, that he is – they all are – here for him, anything he needs.

They drink one more beer and say goodbye an hour later, their embraces still a little tighter than usual with how happy they are for Fish. Before Santiago can get into Benny’s car on the driveway, the door to Frankie’s house opens again and Elena runs to him.

“Mom said to give it to you,” she says, rather unceremoniously handing him a small flowerpot. The plant that grows in it is all long stems full of dark green leaves.

“Uh,” Pope says, very confused and almost sure he feels Will’s gaze on the back of his neck. “What is it?”

“Mint?” Elena asks, like she expected him to be smarter than that.

Pope knows it’s mint – it’s green and smells like mint, so it’s obviously mint – what he meant was _why is your mother giving me a potted plant?_

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles and reaches out to flick the little smartass on the forehead. “But what should I do with it?”

“I don’t know, lemonade?” the girl continues in the same tone as before, probably very disappointed in adults’ common knowledge, or lack thereof.

“Of course,” Santiago agrees then, because it seems like won’t learn anything of use from her. “Great. Thank your mom for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Elena smiles at Pope and waves at Millers over his shoulder, already turning away. “See you!”

Santiago watches the door close after the girl and looks down at the plant he holds. No answers from that thing, either.

“What you’ve got there?” William appears beside him, reaching around to pick one leaf and rub it between his fingers. The fresh smell grows stronger, mixing with Ironhead’s cologne, and Pope breathes in.

“What does it look like to you?”

“Like a peace offering,” Will tells him and gives an encouraging smile when Santiago raises his eyes to him.

Then Benny honks at them from the driver’s seat, and the loud sound would probably make anyone less used to gunshots and explosions jump. “Hey, get your asses in the car or I’m leaving you here.”

Will sends Benny a look of an annoyed older brother, but smiles back at him again when Santiago squeezes his shoulder in a silent _thank you_. Not always the ones he wants to hear, but it seems that this man has all the answers. With the plant, Esme's peace offering, in his hands Pope settles onto the backseat with Ironhead next to him instead of in the passenger's seat, and Benny drives them home.

Catfish has his license back. Things are as they should be, fucking finally. He should be happy for Frankie, and he _is_ , so very much. That’s what his best friend deserves, the peace of mind and a bunch of kids that have everything they need and want.

And with all of that, the only reason Ironhead still lets Pope stay with him is gone. He should have never let himself think of Will’s place as what he started to call it, sometime between coming back and now. _Home_. Santiago isn’t even sure why he’s so upset about it – he has no right to be, he knew it was never meant to be forever.

 _So you better enjoy it while you still can_ , Santiago thinks to himself, unconsciously tightening his fingers around the pot until Will gently, wordlessly takes it from his grip.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will takes Santiago on that road trip - just the two of them and Redfly's truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck :) That's all I have to say about my consistency when it comes to updating. I'm so sorry.
> 
> And I want to thank you all, because the feedback I got on the last chapter is more than what I could've imagined. Your comments are amazing, and you are amazing, and it warms what's left of my heart to read about what you think and like. Once again, thank you.
> 
> Also, I'm on [tumblr](https://copperdead.tumblr.com/) now. If anyone wants to talk about fanfiction or Oscar Isaac or anything else, scream at me, share random thoughts, please do it!

Jesus, he's been so fucking _naïve_.

The rhythm they've found with Frankie's kids. Slow mornings and coffee already waiting for him the moment he shuffles to the kitchen with his eyes barely open. Quiet, late evenings, when Pope’s poorly concealed wince is all it takes for William to put down his book and, with steady hands and unwavering determination, try to relieve some of his pain. Learning how Will’s amused smile that he already knew is different from the one Ironhead greets him with when he comes back from work.

Santiago thought he could play home with Will and now he's paying for it.

If there was ever a different reason to share an apartment, one that had less to do with Frankie or his kids and more with Santiago’s obvious inability to get his shit together, it’s gone now, too – he has a job, some things of his own and enough money to rent a place for himself. So, even though Pope is and forever will be grateful for it, he knows it’s time for him to stop taking advantage of Ironhead’s endless patience. Just like Catfish and Benny, he’ll always be there for him, Santiago would never doubt that, but he’ll no longer be within an arm’s reach whenever Pope wants to touch him, dangerously indulgent as if he learned nothing about the disasters his greed can cause.

It was never William’s responsibility to help him get settled, get used to this new – scarier than war and death – life. And he still did, took it upon himself to make it easier, make it possible. Pope should have remembered that all of it was temporary, no matter how comfortable he got in the meantime, and save himself the pain of losing what he’s got now, losing _Will_ , even in the little ways Santiago selfishly thinks he has him.

And still, ever since Frankie told them about his license, there's nothing. Not even the tiniest suggestion from Will that Pope should start looking for his own place. Ironhead's silence on that matter and waiting for him to finally bring it up only makes things worse and if the long, thoughtful looks William gives him sometimes are anything to go by, Santiago is not as subtle about the whole thing as he’d like.

But whatever he sees, Ironhead seems to take it – not wrongly, just without knowing all the reasons for it – for Pope’s growing frustration, because after three days of Santiago trying and failing to accept what’s coming, he takes half a step closer where they stand side by side at the kitchen counter and touches his elbow to Santiago’s.

“Still up for that road trip?”

With this line, Will sets things in motion, just not the ones Santiago expected him to, not yet. To buy himself a moment, Pope passes him the peanut butter and licks his own knife clean.

Not that there’s much to think about, Santiago has already said yes and it’s still his answer. He wants to go. William has way more experience in dealing with this shit and if he says getting away for some time can calm him down a little, Pope believes him. To be honest, the thought of being with Will for a while longer before moving out is more than enough for Pope to make up his mind. Hell, he’s almost as excited by the prospect as he’s terrified – just the two of them and Redfly’s old truck, one last chance to look and listen and touch all he wants, as long as he knows his place.

Because it will be either that, or Santiago won’t be able to take Ironhead’s constant proximity for those few consecutive days and nights, he’ll do something he promised himself he would never do and, eventually, he’ll fuck up the best thing he has in his life. And that’s not an option.

His current situation is at least a little familiar to what Santiago knows from before – his heart may be on the line in a completely different way now than it used to be when he was on active duty, but the idea is roughly the same. The possibility of getting hurt in the process has never stopped him from going places. Staying – yes, more than once. Never from going, though.

He’s probably taking a second too long answering, but when he looks up from his sandwich, peanut butter still has Ironhead’s attention, or maybe Miller is giving him an easy way out in case Pope changed his mind. There’s no expectant stare, no pressure, at least nothing directed at Santiago, because Will’s sandwich is getting a strangely focused look.

“I am,” Pope says then and knows the harder press of Will’s elbow against his is nothing more than wishful thinking. “What’s the plan?”

* * *

No plan is what they eventually settle on. It’s Will’s idea, this and a few more that take Santiago by surprise, but he agrees to all of them within seconds; staying off the highways, no destination, driving and resting accordingly to what they’ll feel like doing. Far from what Santiago would expect from him, but the freedom of choice Will is offering – intentionally, no doubt – along with his ideas is much appreciated. So much that Santiago finds himself voicing the first suggestion of his own.

“You know what? Fuck GPS and Google Maps. Let's do it old school.”

Considering the slow, pleased smile Pope gets in the answer, this first real sign of enthusiasm from him seems to be a pretty good one.

The following day Will takes them to a small bookshop, hidden behind Starbucks and run by the lady in her sixties that greets William with a _welcome back, dear_ , to hunt for something useful. Looks like Ironhead is a regular client, and an appreciated one, too – as he leads them deeper into the shop, the owner’s eyes trail longingly after him in a way that is nothing but relatable.

Sometime later Santiago finds Will between the shelves, already a few pages deep in a book he distractedly says is about bikers. Pope takes it from his grip, adds it to the handful of maps and random guidebooks he holds, and goes to pay for them all, not waiting to see what kind of expression appears on William’s face.

They do little more than this in terms of preparation and at eight o’ clock on Friday morning Santiago buckles up on the passenger’s seat of Tom’s old truck. All they know is they're going north and because Santiago managed to get a day off next week, they have six days to make a loop and come back home before they’re needed anywhere. Their maps and guidebooks are on the backseat, and Santiago wants to find out where those can take them. Dreads it, too.

It takes him fifteen minutes to turn on the radio in search for something louder than his anxiety to focus on.

“That’s the thing we didn’t think about,” Santiago complains, switching through the stations, none of which plays music that sucks less than generic pop. The truck has a CD player, but they aren’t prepared for that either.

“Check in the glovebox,” Will says with his eyes fixed firmly on the street leading through the suburbs.

The fact William thinks about everything is no surprise, but when Santiago does what he’s been told to, the content of the glovebox definitely is. Five CD cases, all of them slightly scratched and very familiar, signed in one corner with black marker in Santiago’s messy handwriting. _Garcia_.

“They were there when I got the truck,” Ironhead explains, and Pope realizes he’s been silently turning the CDs in his hands for a long moment, running his fingers along the cracks in the plastic.

“Yeah,” he answers slowly, still stunned. “I gave them to Tom for safekeeping before I left for Colombia. I thought they were gone.”

“Well, those aren’t.”

Santiago hums in agreement. There were many more, but he’s never thought he’d get back even a single one.

Even after everything that happened, Redfly managed to keep them for him. And, through Will, return them.

Before he speaks, Santiago clears his throat to make sure his voice won’t break in the middle of the sentence. “You’re still not a big fan of Metallica, huh?”

“You can play it,” Will says, too good for Pope like always, and even makes it sound slightly encouraging. He’s going to suffer for an hour or so, but if memory serves Santiago right, Will’s fine with classic rock, and that’s more or less what four of the albums are. They’re going to be sick of them by the end of this trip.

“Just once,” Santiago promises, a bit too softly for his own liking, and puts the CD in the player.

Having back the only possession Pope was reluctant to get rid of before leaving, one that _Tom_ was keeping for him, that’s— that’s a lot to take in. Understanding as ever, Will drives in silence for the whole album, and by the time it ends, Santiago’s heart feels a little bit lighter.

* * *

Maybe he’s overreacting – he probably is, everything seems more intense, more exhausting these days – but Pope laughs at himself in his head for ever thinking that sharing an apartment with William was hard. The enclosed space of the truck and a tiny motel room they’re currently at have already proved him wrong and it’s still the first day.

There’s a table in here, two chairs and narrow beds (also two, because the last available room with only one double bed is romantic comedy shit that doesn’t happen in real life), and a bathroom that smells of cheap detergent, small enough to hit your elbow on something at every turn. With all that and a parking spot in front of each room, the place they chose to spend the night in is everything Santiago thought about from the moment Will suggested the road trip, so despite the expected disadvantages, he kind of loves it.

His bed’s okay, too, Pope decides as he lays back on top of the covers, and that’s exactly when the phone Will left on the table before taking a shower starts ringing. With a groan, he gets up to take a look.

“It’s Benny,” Santiago calls out.

A few seconds pass, then Will cracks the bathroom door open. A glance out of the corner of his eye tells Santiago there’s too much naked skin on display to try looking that way fully.

“Put him on speaker,” Ironhead tells him, so Pope does just that, straddling a chair and crossing his forearms on its back.

“Hey, what’s up? Will’s right here, he can hear you.”

“Oh, hey, man.” The younger Miller doesn’t sound very surprised Santiago’s answering his brother’s phone. “I dropped by earlier today, but you guys weren’t at home. Wanted to talk about the fight. Tomorrow’s good or you two are doing something else?”

“Uh, sorry, Benny. We’re out of town,” Pope says slowly, taken by surprise that Benny knows nothing about this trip, and gets a second of equally confused silence in answer.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“I don’t think this place have a name,” Santiago tries to explain. “We took Redfly’s truck for a drive, we’ll be on the road for a few more days.”

“What, without me? Aw, fuck you, Pope.”

“Hey, you have better things to do, don’t you? And it was Will’s idea,” Santiago says in his defense, and he can barely keep the laughter out of his voice. If, out of everything else, Benny’s problem is not being invited along, then maybe he doesn’t suspect much after all.

There’s a beat of silence on the other side, and then Benny’s deep chuckle. “For sure.”

Santiago has no time to analyze Benny’s teasing tone, because Ironhead appears at his side, shirtless and with a towel around his neck. Pope keeps his eyes firmly on the phone.

“It was,” William confirms lightly. “The whole point of this trip is to get away from you.”

Benny laughs harder, the sound warm and loud even through the phone. “Fine, then you better make it count. Have fun, assholes.”

“Thanks, bro. I’ll call you after we get back.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Benny drawls, still amused.

As Will reaches for his phone to end the call, Santiago tells Benny goodbye and gets up to move back to his bed. He sits down and immediately needs to stifle a sigh of defeat, because there’s no running away in this tiny room – he has a great view of Ironhead’s naked back from his spot. The skin over his shoulder blades glistens, still wet after the shower.

Tearing his eyes away from the drop of water that runs down William’s spine, Santiago tries for a casual tone. “You haven’t told him?”

“You heard him, he’d have wanted go with us,” Ironhead answers on his way back to the bathroom. He leaves the door open this time, gathering his stuff. “The fight’s a month away, the kid needs to focus on his training.”

A month? Santiago suddenly feels bad for forgetting that Benny’s fight’s coming up, like it’s not one of the most important things to the Millers now. By natural extension, it should be equally important to him.

“Yeah, because telling him now, after we’d left, won’t hurt his feelings,” Santiago chuckles at both Will’s logic and the affection for his brother that fuels it.

“He’ll live,” Will says dismissively, and the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth before he turns away is nothing but fond.

Leaning against the wall and pulling his legs onto the bed, Santiago spares a thought to wonder how anyone can look so fucking pretty in this awful fluorescent light, just folding their clothes. On the other hand, he’s seen Will covered in mud and blood, his own and others’, and he was no less pretty back then.

“Pope?”

Brought back to reality, Santiago lifts his gaze to Will’s face and finds him already looking back. He’s been caught staring. Not for the first time ever, but how often he can pretend to be spacing out with Will just happening to be in his line of sight. He needs to handle this shit. Now.

“Jesus,” Pope breathes. “I need to hit the gym again.”

He isn’t insecure about his looks in general, never has been, so when Will furrows his eyebrows at him and shifts on his feet, Santiago already knows he fucked up – first with getting caught, now with trying to save himself. And then Ironhead blinks and, completely unaware of the damage control that is happening, allows Pope to keep what’s left of his pride.

“Man, you’re retired. You don’t _need_ to do anything,” Will reminds him and breaks eye contact to hide beneath the towel and scrub his hair dry. Very slowly, Santiago lets out a breath he’s been holding. “Besides, you look good.”

Not much different from what he’s always looked like, Pope thinks, but what’s important is that Will’s words and light tone don’t require any answer from him. Santiago can leave it at this and remember to be more careful from now on, so he takes his chance and does just that. For the whole five minutes too, because Ironhead – extremely unhelpful whenever Pope tries to keep his resolve around him – comes to the edge of Santiago’s bed with two beers and one of the maps as soon as he’s pulled on a t-shirt. And because he’s a weak, weak man, Santiago makes space for him and reaches for the offered can.

As the minutes pass, Ironhead gets more and more comfortable, steadily taking up what’s left of the space between them. It’s bearable enough, so Pope stays where he sits, sips on his beer and enjoys talking about the roads they could take tomorrow until Will shifts again and, stretching out his legs, leans back on his elbow. Suddenly Santiago finds himself so close to him, so close to setting fire to their friendship, their bond, the trust he knows he doesn’t deserve that all he can do if he wants to make it home without throwing himself at his friend, without turning all he has to ashes, is to put some distance between them.

“All right,” Pope chuckles, making sure his retreat is smoother than the pathetic excuse before. “Go back to your bed or you’re going to fall asleep here.”

He usually likes to look at Ironhead when he’s like this, comfortable and relaxed, but Santiago’s not one to tempt fate, and now it wouldn’t be difficult to count Will’s eyelashes that he knows are blond at the ends. So, when Will turns towards him, Santiago’s prepared – he tips his head back and finishes his beer in a few gulps to avoid looking at him.

Next to him, Ironhead makes a noise of confirmation that actually sounds a little sleepy, and then sits up slowly to move to his own bed. Santiago gets up after him and manages to take two steps towards the bathroom before Miller’s voice stops him.

“Goodnight.” Nothing more than this, and when Pope looks back at him, Will’s busy folding the map.

“Goodnight,” Santiago answers quietly and makes his way to the bathroom.

With lust and shame running through his veins, he locks the door and thinks, _the first fucking day_.

* * *

The next day, after rather mediocre waffles for breakfast, Santiago gets kicked out on the backseat. All that driving and sitting in the car turned out not to be very kind on Pope’s knees and Ironhead didn’t need to hear any complains yesterday to know it.

A stupid thing to do, considering what happened the day before, but because he sits on the opposite side, angled a little to put his left leg up, Santiago can watch Will drive without much risk of getting caught again.

Although he didn’t think it possible, Ironhead's dirty blond hair looks even fairer now in the late summer, and the long sleeves of his henley shirt are rolled up to his elbows. He has nice forearms, Santiago thinks, catching a glimpse of the tattoo there, the ink faded under suntanned skin. It hurts a little to look at Will sometimes, but it’s always more dangerous when it doesn’t – like today – so Santiago grabs a map and finds the roads they’ve talked about yesterday, busies himself with figuring out where they could end up spending the night.

They stop at the gas station a few hours later. Coming back to their car after paying for the gas, Pope throws a bag of M&M’s, and Ironhead catches it in the air without effort, sending him a questioning look.

“I’ve seen you stealing them from the kids,” Santiago says in terms of explanation, and walks around the truck to the driver’s side. Will says nothing then, but when half an hour later he opens the bag and asks Santiago if he wants some, he holds Pope’s hand steady pouring the M&M’s in his palm.

It’s the moment Santiago realizes something has changed overnight. Maybe the fact that they’re on the road just had the time to sunk in, because while it wasn’t very evident for him before, now every mile brings the kind of quiet satisfaction Santiago didn’t expect to feel. True, it’s not flying over the mountains in the chopper, but the aimless drive through the American countryside – boring in a quite charming way – seems better somehow, more promising in terms of what he hopes to find.

The steady rumble of the truck’s engine is weirdly calming too, just like Ironhead’s voice is when he talks over that Metallica album that he let Santiago play again on low volume. The acceleration’s far from perfect, but the truck runs smoothly nonetheless, and Santiago starts to believe Redfly’s shitty financial situation wasn’t the only reason for his reluctance to get a new car. He’d never said it to Tom, but Pope understands people may sometimes want to keep something just because they _like_ it, because despite it being run down, it’s still reliable and worth the work they may need to put into it from time to time.

Driving feels so good for Santiago that he keeps going until they’re both seriously hungry, and even then, he stops only because it’s been an hour since Will mentioned the lunch. They sit at one of the outside tables and Pope’s reminded that the actual driving isn’t the only cool thing about this trip the second he bites into his pulled pork sandwich. He’s halfway through it when, thinking of how he managed to forget about Benny’s upcoming fight, Pope realizes he has no idea when Will would be leaving for his next speech tour.

“October,” Ironhead answers Santiago’s question. “I’m still waiting for the details, but I know it’ll be the last one.”

Pope stares at him dumbly. He didn’t see that coming. “Really? Why?”

“You said it yourself, how many more of those speeches I could possibly give?” Will says calmly, like it’s any explanation.

Santiago puts his sandwich down; it’ll have to wait. “We both know I say a lot of shit. You shouldn’t listen to me half of the time.”

“Well, sometimes you’re right. After I give those I’m planning, I’ll be at two hundred fifty. That’s a good number to quit at.”

“I thought you were going for a thousand,” Pope admits. He’s not exaggerating – sometime between coming back and now he’s learned that if Will thinks those speeches are important, he’ll keep giving them and that’s none of Santiago’s business.

“Yeah, me too.” Will’s grin makes his eyes crinkle, but he hesitates before he adds, “I guess I just feel more like staying home recently.”

Santiago frowns at him, because they’re sitting in some shithole, about to stay on the road for the next few days, and it was all Will’s idea. His idea, but apparently not something _he_ wants.

“So you went for a road trip,” Pope stresses carefully. _For me_ , he doesn’t add. Of course Will did, but he thought– If he had known—

“That’s different,” Ironhead says, not missing a beat, and the certainty in both his eyes and voice would make Santiago blush if getting flustered in his company was ever an option.

“Right,” Pope mutters, not exactly convinced, and doesn’t dare to push for further explanation that he’s sure would only make him feel worse. “Any alternatives?”

“I don’t think I need any. Unless I punch somebody’s teeth in and have to cover their dental bills again, I’m good with the money. And I thought,” Will continues, a little softer. “I could get a dog. Always wanted one, might as well get it now.”

Santiago can’t help the smile pulling at his mouth. Will’s sharing a lot of interesting things today. “That’s your plan for the future? A dog?”

“Good as any other.” Will shrugs, and he’s right. It makes sense in a way – dogs don’t break engagements when they learn you're a mess.

“Ironhead’s dream is to buy a dog,” Santiago muses, getting back to his sandwich. “Who would’ve thought.”

“I don’t want to buy it.”

“Of course not. You want to adopt it.”

Will wants to take in a lost, lonely creature, one that has nothing but the too heavy weight of its past, and give it a chance. Give it a home. Santiago can see a pattern here.

“Mm-hmm. That’s all right with you?”

Santiago blinks in confusion. “I love dogs, but why are you asking me? It’s your place, man.”

“You live there, too.”

“For how much longer?” Santiago feels proud of himself that it comes out so easily. He needs to start saying it out loud, but it doesn’t mean he has to meet Ironhead’s eyes while doing it. He steals one of his fries instead, thankful to have an excuse. “Just get the dog if you want, Will. I might even walk it sometimes.”

Will nods in answer like it’s enough for him and says nothing else until they finish their food, so Santiago says nothing either. It takes him another fifty miles behind the wheel to remember he was supposed to be enjoying this trip, and not to be dramatic about what will happen afterwards.

* * *

Later, when it’s still a little too early to stop for the night, they come across a town by the lake, weirdly touristy for reasons none of them cares about enough to figure out. There’s nothing distinctive about it when Santiago looks through the window – he’s on the passenger’s seat beside Will again – except for the amount of people on the main street and the promising diversity of food served on every corner.

“Wanna take a walk?” Ironhead asks, slowing down.

Santiago knows it’d be wise thing to do to. Especially after spending the last few hours with his feet up on the dashboard – the position turned out to be even more comfortable than the backseat was in the morning, but his ass needs a break, too.

“Only if it ends with dinner,” he drawls, suggestive on purpose.

“Sure, on me,” Will chuckles warmly, amused just like Santiago hoped he’d be. “We could get a room, after…” he trails off, making Pope laugh, but thankfully doesn’t draw it out. There’s only so much Santiago can take.

They park the truck a little farther and walk back, pace unhurried, following where the biggest stream of people leads them. As they leave the main road behind, the streets turn narrow and crowded, lined with little shops selling overpriced souvenirs. They have no choice but to walk closer to each other, Santiago’s shoulder brushing Will’s at every other step, but he doesn’t think much about it until Ironhead stops him with a hand on his wrist. As soon as Pope looks up, the touch’s gone.

“We should buy something for Catfish’s kids,” Will says, nodding at the mugs and magnets of shitty quality and even shittier design. Or the other way around.

“Yeah, we should,” Santiago agrees. “And for Benny, too. Maybe he won’t kick our asses for leaving him behind if we bring something for him.”

They split for a while, browsing through postcards and keychains, picking the otherwise useless presents that serve only one purpose – showing people back home you’ve been thinking about them. It’d be nice, bringing them something from every trip he takes, Santiago thinks and immediately gets angry at himself for expecting more trips like this one, and then angrier for getting angry in the first place.

Thank God for Benny, because he proves to be a distraction even without physically being there; a perfect present for him catches Pope’s attention that exact moment. He doesn’t know if giving it to Benny would be hilarious or just heartless, but he reaches for it anyway. It’s going to earn him that ass kicking, that’s certain.

“For Benny,” Santiago says, coming up to Will and showing him the bottle opener he’s just found, the town’s name engraved on its side. “So he can open the beer for us.”

Will rises his gaze from the postcards he holds, first at the opener, then at Santiago. And then, slowly, pairing it with the best incredulous look Pope has ever seen, he smiles. “You’re a dick.”

Ironhead almost makes it sound like an endearment, and Santiago already knows it’s worth the shit he’s going to take from Benny for making fun of his forced abstinence.

They pay for all they’ve picked and continue down the street to where the view of the lake spreads from. Still a lot of people here, but Santiago thinks maybe he could gently push through them, to that quieter place on the side. He barely takes a step forward before Will’s hand is on his forearm again. He doesn’t even have to pull, the mindless brush of his thumb over the sensitive skin of the inside of Pope’s elbow is all it takes to make him stay at his side.  

“Don’t run off,” Will says like Santiago’s going to get lost among the crowd if he doesn’t.

“I wouldn’t.” That’s a lie, but it looks like Ironhead chooses not to comment on that and he seems satisfied with Santiago falling into step with him again.

Only, he doesn’t let go of his arm; his fingers stay where they are until they make their way to the railing separating the street from the lakeshore, a little away from all the tourists taking photos. Maybe it’s the crowd. Will never seemed to be particularly affected by them before, but it’s not like Santiago knows what actually makes him uncomfortable or even if it’s anything specific. He probably doesn’t know as much about Ironhead as he thinks he does, anyway.

But when William lets go of his arm and they lean on the railing side by side, he’s calm as always, not a sign of distress or anger. There’s an air of quiet contentment about him, and Santiago can’t resist turning his head a little and— _fuck_.

The view makes his heart stutter, because for every ugly thing Santiago has seen over the years there were just as many beautiful ones, and still – nothing could ever compare to a happy William Miller.

Somehow, especially after Ironhead’s engagement, the knowledge that Will’s off limits gave Santiago hope he could finally get over him. That, for obvious reasons, never happened, but Pope remembers the times, long ago, when Will was in love and making plans for the future, and how it was strangely easy to look at him then even if he was nothing short of painfully breathtaking.

And in this moment in the who-the-fuck-knows-where, Will almost looks like how Santiago has seen him those many years ago. Not the same – so much has happened since then, maybe too much for Will to be happy like that again – but it’s close enough. Peaceful in a way that doesn’t make Santiago want to run away from it.

He doesn’t know the reasons for it, and doesn’t need to know, as long as he gets to see it.

Will turns his head towards him, catching Pope staring again, and holds his gaze. “What is it?”

“Ironhead,” Santiago breathes, shifting and tightening his hold on the railing to stop himself from reaching out. “I want that dinner now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like my idea of domestic fluff is 87% food and beer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still on the road. Shit happens. Santiago and Will are both stupid, and they are both stubborn, but they are there for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably repeating myself, but my dear readers, you deserve to be acknowledged. Your support is priceless, I love reading every single comment, I love you for taking the effort to tell me what you like, think, feel, assume, everything. You are the reason I keep writing. Also, I'm permanently blushing these days, you're just so fucking nice it makes me wanna cry.
> 
> And, to be safe, a warning for this chapter (though it's all rather mild/not particularly graphic in my opinion, and it may also be a spoiler, kind of?): some blood ahead, and some unintentional violence.
> 
> My life is going to suck for another month or so and I don't know when I'll be able to post the next chapter. This one's quite long though, so I hope it'll make up for the wait. Enjoy!

There’s no explanation for Santiago to be this useless in the mornings other than getting old.

What the fuck happened? He used to be fine running on two hours of sleep, waking up cold and hungry, but already aware of his surroundings, pushing through the exhaustion for as many nights as it was necessary. It’s the ability his body apparently decided to lose sometime in the span of the last few months. Now getting up at six and not killing himself on his way to the bathroom seems like quite a feat.

It’s not fair, not when William is already dressed and looking far more awake than Pope’s going to feel until the last sip of his coffee, gathering the maps spread on the table and packing his stuff. He’s all coordinated movements and quiet energy that would make Santiago envious if it weren’t for the peaceful joy he sees in Ironhead’s eyes and hears in his soft good morning.

It’s been like this since yesterday – unconsciously and effortlessly, Will has been tightening his hold on Pope’s heart for the whole afternoon. During their dinner, when Santiago was trying to steal one too many fries, Ironhead swatted at his fingers playfully and then let him steal some more. And after he caught him shifting in his seat once too often, Will kicked him lightly under the table and nodded at his own knee, a wordless invitation for Santiago to rest his ankle there. One that Pope took way too eagerly, choosing to be deaf to the voice in his head that was telling him of the wrongness of it all. Among the whiny children, picky tourists and overworked staff that couldn't care less, nobody paid them any attention.

Santiago gets it. Will has things to look forward to now, plans of changes that will make his life better. It’s good to be able to watch his excitement from up close, even if he expresses it in such a subtle manner. And when William's like this, he... Well, he's a sight to behold.

Still, it doesn’t mean Pope can’t be slightly annoyed at himself – by the time he barely manages to pull his jeans on, Ironhead is ready to go, his duffel bag packed and zipped. Even the excuse of a sleepless night doesn’t apply to Santiago only, as neither of them got much sleep thanks to the loud crowd occupying the bar on the other side of the road. The Saturday night goes by its own rights here just like it does in the city, and the noise didn’t grow any less noticeable until three in the morning.

He’s getting old and lazy, and it sucks, Santiago decides on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Apparently, he focuses too much on taking the steps instead of their direction, knees refusing to bend without his conscious effort. Trying to round the beds, he almost walks right into Will.

“Easy,” Ironhead murmurs, catching him by the arms, his voice laced with amusement. “Still asleep?”

Not anymore. Hard as it is for Santiago to fully wake up, it’s equally difficult not to be painfully aware of Will’s closeness as he invades Pope’s personal space and all his senses along with it. The fog clouding his mind clears almost too violently in the early morning light, chased away by Ironhead’s steading touch.

“Fuck off, I’m retired,” Pope grumbles in answer and lays a careful hand on Will’s hip, fighting off the urge to curl his fingers around it and gently pushing him out of the way instead. Ironhead moves aside easily, arms dropping to his sides, which reminds Santiago to also take his hand back. Will’s low chuckle makes up for the lost contact.

Pope brushes past him to get to the bathroom, arms still tingling where William’s fingers were. He almost drops the toothpaste in the haste to have something to think about that isn’t the scorching heat of Ironhead’s skin nor the curve of his smile. It’d be better to let him go – in more ways than to have breakfast without him, Santiago’s mind supplies unhelpfully. Will’s probably already bored with waiting for him.

“Go ahead,” Santiago mutters around the toothbrush, which quickly proves to be a bad idea, so he leans over the sink to spit out the foam. “Order pancakes for me, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

But shifting on his legs to lessen the stiffness in his joints, Pope doesn’t hear Will exit the room or anything else except the water running in the sink, for that matter. As he straightens and looks in the mirror, Ironhead stands behind him in the bathroom’s doorway, blue eyes travelling up his body searchingly. It takes a lot for Santiago, far more than it should, to stay still under the gaze that flickers up his bare spine and over the scar on his neck.

“Your knees are acting up again?” Will asks when their eyes finally meet in the mirror. “I’ll take a look tonight, yeah?”

All Santiago can do is shrug and make a non-committal sound, glad for the mouthful of water that saves him the trouble of searching for words when none come to his mind. Any other day he’d just agree, but not now, when they’re apart for no longer than five minutes at a time for the third day in a row. Having Ironhead touch him like this today, strong fingers digging firmly into his muscles and skimming over the thin skin on the back of his knees, even with the single purpose of relieving the pain, is a little too much.

To escape giving any more precise answer should Will require one, Pope ducks his head to spit out the water and rinse his mouth again.

“Okay, I see you need your coffee,” Ironhead chuckles somewhere behind him and, by the sound of it, moves to leave the room. “Don’t take too long or I’ll eat your pancakes.”

“Don’t you dare,” Santiago calls out right before the door opens and clicks shut.

Only after the room falls silent, he can finally start thinking about getting ready. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t take long at all without Will’s distracting presence. Within minutes Pope pulls on a t-shirt and heads out to the diner that is just around the corner from their motel.

Ironhead isn’t waiting for him with their breakfast, though. In fact, he’s still within Santiago’s eyesight when he opens the door, past Redfly’s truck parked in front of their room. And he’s not alone. Two guys are talking to him – kids, actually, barely old enough to drink without asking an older friend for a favor, and apparently taking extensive advantage of that freedom. Or rather they were talking, because it looks like the conversation has just ended, and for every unsteady step those guys take towards Will, Will takes one backwards.

The key to their room in his hand forgotten, Santiago comes up to them in long strides, even if he doesn’t actually need to hurry. Will's clearly in control of both the situation _and_ himself. It's in his stance, in the fluid movements of an experienced fighter. The concern takes hold of Pope’s thoughts, nonetheless. And rightfully so.

The situation takes a turn for worse when Santiago is halfway between the room and them. One of the guys swings his fist in a wide arch and William catches his wrist almost effortlessly, pushing him away with his free hand. The force of it isn't even that great, judging by how Ironhead uses only his arm and not the full weight of his body. The kid is so drunk that it still puts him off balance, sends him sprawling on his ass.

Taking advantage of the fact that one kid is on the ground, slurring insults, and the other is busy helping his friend up, Pope decides he can focus on Will, see if he really is as okay as he seems to be. He reaches out to touch his arm, but in hindsight, he should've said something first.

Santiago knows his mistake even before Ironhead moves, because there’s being stupid and there’s sneaking up to an ex-spec op soldier basically in the middle of a fight. When Will’s elbow connects with his face, it comes with a sense of embarrassing fairness instead of as a surprise, and by the time Pope’s head snaps to the side with the force of the blow, he’s already staggering back to avoid anything else he might’ve just carelessly brought onto himself.

Nothing follows, though, and with the corner of his eye Pope can see Will standing a few steps away, angled towards him and frozen to the spot. Behind him the kids slink away out of Santiago’s view hurriedly. Good, at least they won’t be a problem. He has enough to worry about as it is, and no one to blame for it but himself.

Because he fucked up. _Again_.

Something tickles his nose and only then Pope registers the blood that flows freely down his face, dripping from his chin and onto his chest.

“I’m all right,” Santiago says immediately, the metallic taste flooding his mouth as he licks his lips. He waves one hand in a dismissive gesture, and with the other he pulls up the hem of his t-shirt and bunches up the fabric, holding it to his face. “My bad, coming up to you from behind like this,” he mumbles against the cotton and straightens, finally turning towards Will.

Pope’s thoughts halt to a stop the moment he looks up, replaced by a constant noise of denial.

It’s not even Ironhead’s shaky stillness that tells him of the extent of the damage done, but the ice-cold panic in his eyes, his otherwise expressionless face. When their gazes meet, Will abruptly drops his to the ground, but not fast enough for Santiago to miss the anger blooming in the blue.

He needs to- He needs to sort this out, somehow. The street’s deserted now, as it should be at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, but it’s not the place for it.

“Let’s go inside. Come on,” Pope says carefully, and it takes a long, tense moment for William to comply.

For all the things Santiago has seen and done, the taste of blood has always been equally disgusting. Today it makes him feel downright sick though, so he spits on the ground and then follows Ironhead to their room.

Inside, where there’s at least some sense of privacy, Pope goes straight to the bathroom and leaves the door wide open. He bends over the sink, shirt away from his face now, and with relief he notices that the nosebleed has already slowed down to a dribble. The sooner it stops, the sooner he’ll be able to clean up and see to Will.

He’s been lucky, Santiago thinks, running his fingers down the bridge of his nose and checking for damage. There’s none – it was an instinctual, bad-angled hit. If Ironhead put any actual thought to it, he would’ve easily broken his nose, but the way it is Santiago knows he’ll be fine as soon as the bleeding’s over.

A minute passes slowly in a deafening silence, and another after that, time measured with drops of blood falling into the sink. Pope doesn’t know if it’d be the best not to bother Will now or to try to talk to him, and with what words. Doesn’t know how Ironhead does it when he’s dealing with Santiago, because he always seems to sense exactly what it is that Pope needs at the moment, whether a distraction or some quiet company. And there he is, completely lost, clueless as how to even begin helping his friend.

Santiago knows only one thing – he can be the one bleeding, but between the two of them he's clearly not the one hurting.

“Hey, you can buy me breakfast and we’ll be even, yeah?” Pope tries desperately, glancing at William out of the corner of his eye and cursing himself in his head for being this useless. He gets completely ignored.

“Pope,” Will says, voice rough, as far from his usual controlled self as Santiago has ever heard him. “I know it doesn't mean shit, but I'm sorry. And if there's _anything_ -" Will's voice breaks on the word – Santiago's heart along with it – and he clears his throat before he speaks again, slow and deliberate this time, mindful of his tone. "If there's something I can do, tell me."

There are so many answers to that, and all of them wrong. Some because they’d be ridiculous, and still something Will would've done if Santiago asked. Many more just because of how inappropriate such a request would be, how much of a selfish fucker Pope would be for asking for it.

“Hand me a towel?” is what he eventually settles on. “It’s in my bag.”

Will disappears from the bathroom’s doorway then, where Santiago can see him, so in the meantime he tries to get out of his bloodied t-shirt without making too much of a mess. Once successful, he uses it to wipe his face the best he can and stuffs some toilet paper into his right nostril. Now Pope can finally straighten and turn towards Ironhead who’s already back, hovering with a towel in his outstretched hand, eyes downcast on the tiles.

He figures he should give Will some space when Miller withdraws his hand and steps away – a little too fast, a little too far – the second Santiago takes the towel in his fingers. And he needs to thread carefully here, because the more he says, the more likely he is to fuck it all up beyond repair.

“I saw it, Will,” Santiago tells him as convincingly as he can muster. “Those kids started it, and you did nothing to hurt them. They’re all right.”

“I know.”

 _Well, that worked well_ , Pope thinks bitterly, taking a moment to clean up, leaving faint pink stains on the white fabric of his towel. The paper in his nostril isn’t soaked yet, he notices looking at himself in the mirror, which means he can focus more on Will.

“I am, too,” Santiago continues carefully. “It was an accident, Ironhead. With a little bit of me being an idiot, but still. Not your fault.”

“Not yours, either,” Will counters immediately, barely meeting Santiago’s eyes before he looks away to the tiles on the wall. He sounds angry, and the worst kind of it, too. Angry at himself. “Listen, I didn’t- I knew what I was doing out there.”

It's been a while since their last argument and it's easy to forget how stubborn Will can be when he thinks he's right. He usually is, of course, but not this time. Santiago knows convincing him won’t be easy.

The things he wants to do start with mumbling reassurances into Will's mouth and end with kissing him until he has no choice but believe Santiago that he's all right and he'd never be mad for something like that. But it's not his place, never will be, so Pope does the only thing he _can_ – tries to appeal to Ironhead's reason.

“Did you want to give me a nosebleed, then?”

“ _No_.” Will looks up sharply, eyes wide and too blue, and Santiago learns a thing he’d rather never know – in people who rarely feel it, fear is easy to recognize.

“Exactly,” Pope tells him slowly. “You didn’t do it because you wanted to. You didn’t lose control, either.”

Will averts his eyes again, but doesn’t come up with any counterargument, so it almost feels like a success. It seems Redfly was right, Santiago really is a good salesman when he wants to be. And for once, he’s using the skill properly.

“Will,” Santiago says, gentle and low, crossing his arms to keep himself from trying to touch Ironhead if he doesn’t want to be touched. _What can I do to make it better?,_ he wants to ask. “Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

William shakes his head no, his jaw set hard, and stays silent for a long moment. “Let’s just get the fuck away from here,” he answers eventually, and even if he doesn’t say _please_ , Santiago can hear it in his voice.

“Sure. We’re going,” Pope says, trying not to think much about how Will moves away to let him pass through the doorway, how he keeps doing it, making sure they wouldn’t brush against each other in the limited space of the room.

As soon as Santiago has a fresh t-shirt on, the dirty one thrown into the thrash, because he couldn’t be bothered with washing the blood away, they take their bags and leave the room. He makes a run to return the key, and the girl at the reception desk gives him a weird look, but doesn’t ask any questions. Within a few minutes Santiago is behind the wheel and steering them back on the road.

It feels like running away, but they can’t escape something that follows them into the truck and settles between them like a third passenger.

* * *

Not long after, to Pope’s relief – the taste of copper still lingers on his tongue and he’d gladly get rid of it – Ironhead mentions a sign they’ve just passed, some place nearby that apparently serves good food.

“I could buy you breakfast,” he says, making it sound like a question, and while Santiago hates the uncertainty in his words, they also give him some hope that maybe, just maybe, Will could have breakfast with him and then put what happened earlier behind him.

Killing the engine, Santiago turns his head to Will. “Takeout?” he asks, in case William doesn’t want to deal with people just yet.

“We can go inside,” Ironhead answers, eyes flickering over Santiago’s face.

“All right, just let me-“ Pope waves a hand, vaguely indicating his own face. He opens the door to lean over the ground, making sure the bleeding’s over and he can go eat his breakfast without either a tissue stuffed in his nostril or getting himself a metal flavored coffee.

His nose is a little sore, and it feels weird inside where the blood has clotted, but he’s otherwise fine, and after he gets himself sorted out Santiago tilts the rear-view mirror his way to see if he also looks okay. But when he turns to William for confirmation, the man is clearly less than happy with what he sees.

“You still have blood on your face,” Will mutters, wincing as if saying it physically hurts him. He blames himself so clearly, it only confirms what Pope has been suspecting until now, what he didn’t want to acknowledge just yet.

Ironhead doesn’t avoid the touch because he needs some space, but because he thinks Santiago might not want him to be close. Which is- To say that it isn’t true is a fucking understatement, Pope wants him close _always_ , even when he is the one to put distance between them. But that’s just him keeping himself in check and--

“Yeah?” Santiago twists in his seat to reach for the wet wipes laying somewhere in the back. It took no more than a few hours with three kids of different age and different ability to keep themselves clean for Santiago and Will to learn that those come in handy. “I can’t see.”

William doesn’t take an offered wipe for a long moment, long enough for Pope to start regretting pushing him. When he finally does, it cuts off Santiago’s apology right before it has a chance to turn into words.

Tentative fingers on Pope’s chin tilt his head up. He just wanted to show Will that he isn’t – it’s hard to even imagine it – scared of him, but the moment Ironhead wipes at the underside of his jaw almost without pressure, Santiago knows he shouldn’t have done it.

Once, twice, and on the third time Ironhead’s hand slips a little, fingernail catching on the stubble on Pope’s throat. If it was anyone else beside him, it’d be no more than a slightly sharper retreat, but it’s William Miller, and Santiago can only say he flinches away.

“There,” Will says quietly, turning to the door, and the deep breath he takes getting out of the truck is almost a sigh.

Pope finds himself unable to look up at him until they’re sitting in one of the booths inside. The waitress comes to collect their order, and Ironhead asks for nothing more than coffee and a glass of water with ice.

“I’ll eat later,” Will offers shortly at Santiago’s questioning glance when the woman is out of an earshot, so Pope just nods and doesn’t press further.

He can’t help but give him another confused look, though, when the waitress brings them their drinks and Ironhead pushes the glass towards him. “It’s gonna swell otherwise.”

Santiago huffs a chuckle then, because of course this man cares about him even when he has every right to be mad instead. He must look like an idiot, pressing a glass of cold water to his face, and the waitress’s frown confirms it when she comes back with his pancakes, but it doesn’t really matter. They’ll be gone soon anyway.

The pancakes are slightly burned, but still good, and Pope pushes his plate away after a second bite, holding out his fork, an offer Will can easily turn down with nothing more than a shake of his head. He doesn’t, though, and takes the fork with fingers that are careful enough to make Pope feel like a dick for forcing Ironhead to touch him earlier.

Still, Will doesn’t refuse, and while without much enthusiasm, he cuts off a piece of a pancake and raises it to his mouth. Then he does it all over again when Santiago holds his fork out for a second time a few minutes later.

Santiago knows what they must look like, sharing one meal and using the same fork, and the sideways glare the waitress sends their way only proves him right. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when Ironhead takes a bite or two every time he’s being offered the fork and ends up eating almost a whole pancake.

“Good?”

It is awkward, Pope can’t deny it, their conversation limited to short, meaningless questions and even shorter answers. He still tries though, if only to try and guess how bad it is between them.

Ironhead shrugs, but it’s not the usual, smooth rise and fall of his shoulders. “Yours are better.”

* * *

Throughout the day, the road curves gently around hills or stretches far ahead, thick forest on both sides the only view most of the time. The distance between one town they drive through and another grows bigger with every passing hour, and it still feels insignificant compared to the distance that separates the two of them, sitting next to each other.

They don’t speak much, either, the silence that hangs between them heavy and unfamiliar under soft rock and the rumble of the engine. Whether in the truck or when they stop on the gas stations, it’s the same. William’s mindful of his body in a way that is clearly intentional, keeping out of reach when it’s possible and drawing back when he’d stay, linger, press lightly against Santiago any other day.

Will avoiding any physical contact hurts, but nowhere as much as the knowledge that Pope’s thoughtless actions are the cause of his distress. A distress that with the miles travelled this day has quieted down to tense stillness, turned into gazes averted too soon and hours spent worrying about things not worth worrying about.

Santiago would think it's the universe giving him a lesson, that it's a warning to stay away and a reminder of just how much suffering he can bring Ironhead without meaning to, but he can't believe in forces that would consider Will's pain a fair price for getting the message across.

And after the whole day of watching Ironhead killing himself over this morning – because that’s exactly what he’s been doing – Pope has enough reasons to assume that it might not be just about hurting someone, but about hurting _him_.

Maybe he’s wrong after all. Maybe Will just needs some space. Sure, it’s different from what happened in July, when Ironhead’s control slipped a little, but he _was_ seeking comfort then. Held onto Pope with the force he was later needlessly ashamed of instead of moving away like he does now, here, in another indistinguishable motel room.

It gets too much for Santiago to bear the moment Will decides he’s done with his dinner, half of his fried rice still in the container. Pope isn’t even that close to him, passing by the small table to leave his toothbrush and towel in the bathroom, when Ironhead stands up from his chair. There’s no less than a foot between them, but it proves not to be enough for Will, who takes another step back where there’s no space to do so.

With a loud thump, his hip catches on the edge of the table – so hard it’ll surely leave a bruise, hard enough to make Pope wince in sympathy.

He tosses the things he holds onto his bed without much care and turns to William, because it just can’t go on like this. “Will, look at me,” Santiago pleads and waits until Ironhead’s gaze meets his. He looks… exhausted, almost like he used to look after the longest missions, a skillfully concealed tiredness visible only in the corners of his eyes and the set of his shoulders. “Is it still about this morning? Because you know I’ve had worse, yeah? I can take a hit to the face.”

“Doesn’t mean you should,” Will replies calmly.

“I’m sure some people would disagree,” Santiago tells him in a light voice, daring to smile the slightest bit and pressing his fingertips to his cheekbone, where someone else’s punch had landed not so long ago.

He deserved that one, probably deserved the one this morning, too. Ironhead might not think so, but there’s a chance he’d change his mind if he knew about-- about things Santiago needs to make sure he’ll never know.

Will’s hand twitches at his side, as if he wants to lift it, but stops himself just in time not to. Frowning, he looks at Pope a little sharper instead. “They don’t know shit.”

At this point, Santiago isn’t sure which one of them tries to explain something to the other, so he just hums in answer. But William is right here, closer than an arm’s length and still not close enough. And the space separating them is so different from how it was before, after Pope woke up today, stumbling sleepily through the room and into Will’s steadying touch.

“Come on,” Santiago tries once more, quietly, on the verge of begging. “I’m okay.”

He takes half a step closer, and Ironhead stands still – he could push a chair back and move away without even brushing against Santiago, if he wanted to. But he stays where he is and Pope raises his hands just a little, unsure whether he should reach out. Then William takes the decision from him.

Santiago wraps his arms around Will just as he steps into them, pulling him in and fighting against the wave of relief that almost makes his knees buckle with its force. Ironhead winds his arms around him in turn, slow and tentative, hands coming to rest lightly on his back. There’s an apology in his embrace that Pope doesn’t need, and too much doubt, and Santiago holds him tighter until Will’s touch grows confident.

“Okay,” Pope mutters into Ironhead’s shoulder as he feels him burrow closer, beard scratching his neck gently. “That’s better.” So much better.

Breathing in the smell of spice, road dust and a trace of sweat, Santiago rubs his hand down Will’s back, careful not to stray too low, and up in a motion he hopes is soothing, then across his shoulders when Ironhead doesn’t step away from him after another moment.

Pope doesn’t mind. In truth, he isn’t even sure if he’s the one providing comfort or taking it, with how the warmth of William’s skin seeps through their clothes and deeper, into Santiago’s bones. He just holds on, and squeezes harder for good measure, Will’s arms tightening around him in return. And if there’s a desperate edge to the way Ironhead clings to him, it’s okay. If only it’ll make him understand Pope is still here for him and damaged only as much as he always is, it’s all good.

Then Will takes a deep breath, his chest expanding where it’s pressed against Santiago’s, and with a slow exhale that Pope can feel on the side of his neck, he relaxes under his hands.

They draw back from each other unhurriedly, Ironhead’s fingers lingering on his elbows before he lets go and Santiago breathes easier than he could for the whole day. Will looks a little better, too. His eyes are soft as he looks back at him and there’s even a shadow of a tired smile on his lips that Pope can’t help but answer with a grin of his own.

“All right?” he asks, and his mind finally quiets down at William’s gentle nod and whispered _yeah_.

It’d be the best to give him a moment, Santiago decides, leaving to the bathroom. He needs to take one for himself, too, to get his racing heart under control and for his eyes to stop burning. Ironhead was in his arms, breathed against him, his touch strong and certain in the end, as it should be. Maybe he’s not okay yet, but he will be. They will be.

Once much calmer, Santiago comes back to Will reading a book in his bed, the one bought along with the maps. About bikers, if Santiago remembers correctly. With the fork in his other hand, Ironhead’s finishing slowly what’s left of his fried rice, and yeah, he will be okay.

They don’t talk much this evening, and don’t have to – the silence doesn’t threaten to crush Pope’s chest with its weight anymore, letting him enjoy the sounds of Will moving around later, when he lays in bed with one of the maps and a pen, marking the roads they’ve taken today.

* * *

“You’re cheating,” Santiago says the next morning, squinting at Will’s phone on the table, a blue line between the two points on Google Maps visible on the screen.

Completely unfazed, Ironhead shows him the destination and the time the road he’s checking would take. “We can get home tonight, if we push it,” he explains when Santiago frowns first at the phone, and then at him.

“Do you feel like cutting this trip short?” Pope asks, trying for a neutral tone. It’d make sense of course, given what happened yesterday, but he thought-

“Thought you might,” Will answers, crossing his arms over his chest, and Santiago’s confusion changes into resigned understanding.

While it feels good to be always given a choice, it’d be equally good if Will trusted him to make some of the decisions on his own. Pope knows he has issues, but he thinks he’s capable of making requests if there’s something he wants or if something makes him uncomfortable. Not always, maybe even not most of the time, but that’s a conscious choice. And telling your friend you’d like to kiss him senseless and spend every night in bed with him isn’t exactly the same as telling him you’d like to cut a day off of your road trip.

Besides, one nosebleed isn’t enough to make him want to go home.

“If that’s what you want, then sure, we can go straight home,” Santiago assures, shrugging and leaning back against the table. Will stays where he’s sitting on a chair right beside him, blue eyes looking up attentively. “Or we could take it easy today, stop for the night early and make the rest of the way tomorrow. How does it sound?”

There’s a thoughtful pause, when they just stare at each other. “Good,” Will admits with a nod, sitting up, and then he swats lightly at Pope’s hip. “Now hurry up, man. I’m hungry.”

And Santiago does hurry up, not because he’s been told to, but because the tiny, voluntary touches are back, making him weirdly excited to start the day. The day that passes peacefully, uneventful except for the rain that catches them during lunch on the picnic site, a hedgehog they help cross the road safely, and the outrageously expensive gas. William’s eyes linger sometimes where Pope knows a shadow of a bruise is on his face, but neither of them brings it up. 

Just like they decided to do, they rent a room for the night early, taking their time asking around for the best place to eat dinner. Unsurprisingly, the options are limited in the middle of nowhere like this, but the apple pie served in the nearest town turns out to be the best any of them have ever had.

Later in the evening, Ironhead takes that promised – though delayed by a day – look at Santiago’s knees. It’s much needed by now, Pope has to admit, because the long hours of sitting in the car did take their toll on his joints. The weird thing is, yesterday morning he thought it would be too much for him. Now he wants more, he wants everything Will wants to give him.

William’s touch is still firm, or it wouldn’t work otherwise, but it’s not hard for Santiago to tell the difference in it. He can’t help but notice how the pressure on his muscles lessens at his tiniest wince and turns into soothing, sweeping movements whenever he jerks instinctively under Will’s hands.

There’s no need for Ironhead to be this cautious, but if that’s what he needs – to be sure that he’s not causing Santiago any unnecessary pain, then Pope can only keep his mouth shut until the legs of his sweatpants are rolled back down and thank Will afterwards, letting him know his efforts make it better.

The fact that it’s their last night on this trip downs on him when William comes up to his bedside, bringing two bottles of beer and wordlessly offering one to Santiago. He can’t deny the tiny motel rooms have their own charm, but the whole thing was about Tom’s truck to begin with; the truck that during the last few days became some sort of a comfort space for Pope. And he still feels like getting back, even after all the time they’ve spent in there recently.

“Hey, we have a fucking pickup truck. Let’s take it there,” Santiago suggests, and Will raises his eyebrows at him, but agrees easily, reaching for the car keys a second later.

This motel has a separate parking lot, so they move the truck to the edge of it, where it’s almost completely dark and the only view except the wall from one side is the white and red ribbon of the road in the distance. Santiago climbs to the back after Ironhead and when they finally manage to spread an old blanket on the bed and sit down opposite each other, it’s surprisingly comfortable.

Sipping their beer, they speak in low voices about tomorrow, meaningless things like traffic and what way to go home. Will looks so ridiculously handsome in the dim streetlamp light that at some point Pope has to tip his head back to stare at the sky instead. His neck protests soon after, though – fuck, he really is getting old – and forces him to get a little more creative. He turns, scoots down and then lays back, throwing his legs up on the tailgate they didn’t bother to put down. Ironhead’s knee is in the way though, he’d have to either lay with his head tilted to the side or move his ass down a little more, so Santiago chooses a third option. Careful not to spill what’s left of his drink, he swats at Will to move an inch or two he needs.

Looks like Will misunderstands his wordless request _completely_ , because suddenly there are fingers slipping under his neck and into his hair, lifting his head up just enough for Ironhead to push his thigh beneath it.

“All right?” Will asks quietly above him, and Santiago makes a sound of confirmation, unable to trust his voice to stay even should he decide to use words.

It is all right – not much different in its nature from all the times drunk Benny fell asleep on his brother’s or Pope’s shoulder, for example. But then Santiago shifts a little to get comfortable and suddenly realizes it’s as far from all right as it can get, because _his head is resting on Will’s lap_ and he wants to stay like this forever. And then some more, if he can get away with it.

It’s impossible not to relax even further as the minutes pass in silence between them, and when Ironhead finally breaks it, Pope blinks up at him in momentary confusion.

“That was one fucking mess of a road trip, huh?”

“Yeah? I don’t know how about you, but I had fun,” Pope answers. “Still having.”

It’s too dark to name the expression on Will’s face, especially from this angle, but he does look down at him a little sharper, a warning note ringing clearly in his voice. “Santiago.”

“What?” he retorts. It’s obvious what William’s referring to, but Pope isn’t playing dumb without a reason here. “We’ve been through this, Ironhead.”

Santiago lifts his head, ready to sit up and convince Will all over again that he’s fine, he isn’t mad and there’s no need for remorse, but he’s stopped before he can even push himself up on his elbow.

“Fine, okay,” Will says quickly, pressing down on Santiago’s shoulder until he settles back again. He stares at Pope thoughtfully for a moment and eventually releases a breath that sounds suspiciously like a long-suffering sigh. “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re brave or just stupid.”

Pope frowns at him, seriously confused, because if Miller really means what he suspects he does, that it’s about Santiago not being afraid of Ironhead hurting him, then _Ironhead_ is the stupid one. Pope would gladly take another elbow to his face, and probably much more than that, if that was the price of staying close, but Will, contrary to what he seems to think about himself, isn’t fucking _abusive_.

Not to mention, Santiago isn't brave for not keeping his distance, it’s called being greedy and selfish. To tell William the truth and let him decide what to do with it would be brave. That’s exactly why Pope is – and will forever remain – a coward.

“Wasn’t aware there’s a difference,” he mutters. “But I’m serious, man. I liked this trip. And I know you didn’t really want to go-”

“I did,” Ironhead cuts in firmly. “I told you.”

“Yeah, okay. But you’re still doing it because of me, so,” Santiago says, shrugging against Will’s thigh where the line of his shoulders is pressed. He’s suddenly very thankful for the low light when he feels the muscles flex under his head when he tips it back to look at Ironhead. “Thank you.”

A slightly awkward acknowledgement of barely one of the things William does for him, but a sincere one, nonetheless, and Will doesn’t seem to mind.

“Anytime.”

Santiago scoffs, shaking his head as much as he can in this position. “You should focus on the shit _you_ want, man.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Will chuckles in answer, raising his chin to take a sip of his half-forgotten beer. “Believe me,” he says slowly, quietly, making Pope inclined to do so just because he asks. “I have everything I want.”

Now that’s a blatant lie if Santiago ever heard one, and it says a lot coming from him, but he still makes a sound of vague confirmation. He can humor Ironhead for once.

“Except that dog.”

And except someone to share a life with, Santiago assumes. A kind-hearted, understanding wife and maybe kids of his own. Having seen how Will acts around children, Pope knows he would be an amazing father.

“Except that dog,” Will agrees softly above him.

They stay in the truck for a little longer, until Pope’s eyes start to slip shut against his will and he can barely fight off the sleep. When Ironhead tells him they should go back inside, it’s with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, but his thumb rubbing along Santiago’s collarbone is surely nothing more than a trick of his half-awake mind.

They’ll go home tomorrow, and whatever happens after – for however long it’ll still be Santiago’s home – tonight they’re still on the road. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you want to talk, about anything at all, I'm [here](https://copperdead.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santiago and Will come back home. Benny drops by, Frankie drops by, and Will wants to make Santiago's life a little easier, but makes it a little harder instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 27 years since the last update and I'm s o r r y.
> 
> To people that still haven't lost all interest in this fic despite my fucked-up updating schedule - thank you all for your patience. And, like always, my eternal gratitude for the wonderful comments. Really, every single one makes my day. You spoil me, dear readers.
> 
> Hope you like the new chapter!

They get home in the early afternoon, and as Santiago steps through the door to their shared apartment, for the first time in forever he feels like he has a place to return to.

It’s strange. He was with Will for the whole time this past few days and that’s what made him feel at home in the unmemorable motel rooms. Even more so on the road, in Redfly’s truck. And now Santiago's back here and it’s weird - familiar, safe in a way he didn’t know before. There's no big epiphany, but somewhere between watching Will moving around, unpacking, and doing the laundry he realizes this place he learned to call home is going to be exactly that for him even after he moves out. He may not always be with Will like he is now, but if he ever needs it, he knows he’ll be welcome here. The thought’s comforting.

The warmth under his ribs, the one that tells him he belongs somewhere, only grows stronger as he puts his old CDs on the shelf in his room. It doesn’t last long though, subsiding slowly the more he stares at the cases lined up on one side. There’s not much else than some dust except them, gathering on the empty space.

The view makes Santiago step back, sit on the bed and take a look around. He has to admit, it really is a room of a man not used to keeping things, unconsciously expecting to move sometime soon. Even the baseball bat in the corner is the one Benny left behind.

He has no idea how the fuck he’s supposed to make a whole apartment look like anyone’s living there when he’ll finally get his own place. There’ll be no random books laying around, no hoodies smelling of cheap fabric softener and a particular blond man’s skin thrown over the back of the couch.

So much for feeling good about coming back.

“Hey, you okay?”

Santiago looks over his shoulder at Will standing in the doorway and wonders briefly how the hell this man always seems to sense it when Pope gets a little too lost in his own thoughts.

“Mm-hmm. Glad to be back,” Santiago answers smoothly, gesturing Will inside.

Ironhead crosses the room and, blissfully unaware of the things he makes Santiago feel by doing so, sits down next to him on the bed. Not close enough to touch, but enough for Pope to suddenly be reminded of all the times he laid in this bed late at night, all the times he lost to his desires here and slipped a hand below his waistband, careful not to make a sound. Santiago breathes through the shame squeezing his lungs, forces his thoughts away from that Will he sometimes lets himself imagine and back to Will beside him.

And Will beside him is silent and thoughtful, looking at the almost empty bookcase in front of them. If it tells him anything about what’s going on inside Santiago’s mind, Ironhead doesn’t bring it up.

“Brought you this,” Will says after a while, passing him one of the maps they used.

It’s the one Santiago marked their road on, paper thin at the creases from folding and unfolding it over and over again. When Pope takes the map in his hand, he sees there are also the dates and the mileage of their trip scribbled on it in Will’s neat handwriting.

It was supposed to be something to help him remember those few days they spent together. What it was like to have Will by his side day and night. To remember that he has a friend who cares, and that Santiago should be more careful – think before he acts, or he’ll hurt this friend again.

That’s a good enough reason for him to keep the map, but there’s also that insistent, hopeful idea that if he gets lucky, they could get to use it again. Because, well. Now that the future is more than a foreign concept for him, Santiago thinks he should probably acknowledge it, make some plans. And maybe they could do that once in a while, just take the truck and fuck off to wherever for a few days. Not too often if Will doesn’t feel like travelling much anymore, but maybe an annual road trip could be a thing.

“Thanks.” Pope keeps his eyes on the web of roads on the map. “Would you want to go again, sometime?”

“I’m surprised you still want to, after this time.”

Santiago looks up at Will. “Why? Takes more than one nosebleed to scare me off, man.”

“Yeah,” Ironhead breathes, expression unreadable. “I know. If you think it makes you feel any better, then sure. We can go.”

“I mean, only if you want to,” Santiago clarifies quickly. “You don’t have go anywhere with me just because I suck at civilian life.”

Will just looks back at him for a moment, brows furrowed. “That’s how it’s gonna be? We’re gonna do that fucking _I want to, but only if you want to_ shit?” he asks sharply, but then his voice and eyes soften, turn into firm kindness. “Next time you feel you need to get away, just tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Santiago agrees.

Will’s right again. These past few days were complicated. Not without a reason, but going in circles like this, assuming things instead of trusting each other, is just fucking useless. And if Santiago’s constantly betraying the trust Will’s supposed to have in him by wanting Ironhead like he never should – and lying about it for years – well. That’s something else.

“Good.” Will smiles, bright and easy, and Pope tries to do the same.

It’s a daily fight for him by now, resisting the urge to lean in and feel the curve of Ironhead’s lips against his. Natural and instinctual everywhere else, the fight’s different here, on the edge of his bed – it’s where he can let his guard down and let himself wish, if only for brief moments. Maybe that’s what makes it so hard to stay still now, the dangerously blurred boundaries between the things he imagines in the dark and those he could do right here, right now.

He could turn to Will and take his face in his hands. Kiss him, deep and thorough, like he always wanted to. He could push him down onto the covers between one heavy breath and another and move up the bed until they’re comfortable, bodies aligned, hands and mouths wandering.

 _Fucking hell_ , he’s not letting William into this room ever again.

“All right, uh,” Santiago grasps desperately for any safer thought. “We’ve got nothing to eat, I’m heading out to the store. Are you coming?”

“I can’t.” Will gives him an apologetic smile. “I called Benny earlier, I’m gonna go see him.”

“Sure,” Santiago answers lightly. Considering what happened recently, talking to his brother will definitely do Ironhead good. “Tell him I said hi.”

“I will.” Ironhead stands up and makes a few steps towards the door, but stops in the middle of the room, turning to face Santiago again. “Hey, one more thing. I gotta let Catfish know.”

“What, about that?” Santiago waves a hand at his face. “Okay. Not that it’s going to make much difference.”

Ironhead shrugs. “It’s only fair Catfish knows. I look after his kids, Pope.”

“Yeah, and the next chance he’s got he’s going to make you look after them again.”

“That’s for him and Esme to decide,” Ironhead counters calmly.

That’s true, of course, but the thing is – they kind of made that decision a while ago. Fish knows them. And he knows what he’s doing every time he drops his kids off at their place.

“We’ll tell him, then,” Pope agrees with a nod. “I’ll give him a call and ask when he can come by.”

“Thanks. Just,” Will pauses briefly before continuing. “If it does make a difference, you know it’s gonna be about me only. You’re still good with the kids.”

“Jesus, Ironhead,” Santiago huffs, starting to get annoyed by Will’s readiness to just suffer through shit without complaint and still making sure it doesn’t affect anyone else. “I’m not listening to that. Now get the fuck out of here.”

Pope stands up and with a hand on Will’s shoulder, he pushes the man out of the room and into the hallway. He stands there, leaning against the wall while Will ties his shoes. He ushers him out of the apartment too, just because it’s an excuse to lay his hand on Ironhead’s arm and hear him chuckle around a placating _All right, all right, I’m going_.

Will leaves, and Santiago still holds the map he brought him.

He can’t pretend he’s not just being greedy for Will’s attention and company. He also knows this civilian life will get to be too much and not enough for him all at once, sooner or later. Tom’s words echo in his mind like a warning when he thinks about it – _only thing that made it feel better is when you put a gun in my hand_.

Santiago just hopes it won’t be like this for him, that Ironhead’s presence and leaving the city once in a while will prove to be enough. And as long as he’s not getting it only because Will feels responsible for keeping him sane, he’s going to take it. That’s all he can do, that’s all he _does_. Takes everything he can and prays he could stop wishing for more.

Pope puts the map on the shelf next to the CDs and it doesn’t take up much space, but it’s still something. A reminder and a hope. Maybe they can go do something good with it one day.

* * *

Turns out, Santiago doesn’t have to wait long to see Benny after coming home. Until the next morning, to be precise. The younger Miller lets himself into the apartment like he still lives there and greets Santiago like they haven’t seen each other in a few months instead of a week or so, voice loud and hug tight.

“What’s up?” Santiago says when the kid finally lets go of him. “Will’s out running, if you’re looking for him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Benny replies distractedly, making himself comfortable at the kitchen table while Santiago turns to make them coffee. “Came to see you, actually.”

“First thing in the morning? Did you miss me that much?” Pope glances at him over his shoulder, but Benny just shrugs and doesn’t provide any explanation. Not that Santiago expected one from him. It’s Benny, after all. Still, even if Pope’s glad to see the kid, chaotic energy and all, he can guess this particular visit has a reason.

Benny asks about the trip like he didn’t hear all about it yesterday from his brother. Pope tells him what he wants to know and then some more, encouraged by Benny’s genuine curiosity. Nothing _too_ honest, but the truth nonetheless – that he liked it a lot, that it felt good to be on the road. That he appreciates Will coming up with the idea.

“And listen, Benny,” Santiago says eventually, because Miller has definitely been comparing both sides of the story for the past half an hour. “I don’t know what Will has told you, but I’m okay. That thing is on me, and I’ll be more careful, I promise. But whatever he said, I’m okay. And I hope he is, too.”

Benny just stares at him, hard and long. Long enough for Santiago to start thinking the kid has finally decided to tell him that he should stay away from his brother. And the funny thing is, Benny doesn’t even have to know the most important reason for it. Santiago is sure he doesn’t, or Miller wouldn’t be just sitting here and having a friendly conversation with him otherwise.

The younger Miller sighs eventually and stands up, looking kind of annoyed. Pope wonders briefly if he’s about to get punched after all.

“C’mere, Pope.” Benny grabs his arm, less than gently, and pulls him to his feet. Santiago doesn’t try to resist – whatever’s going to happen, he’s brought it onto himself.

To Pope’s rising apprehension, Benny takes his chin in his hand and turns Santiago’s head to one side and then to the other. Pope stays still under his scrutiny and while he wouldn’t consider himself someone that scares easily, he also has to admit Benny can be pretty fucking intimidating sometimes. Like now, when he looks down at Santiago, blue eyes narrowed and searching.

And then, suddenly, Pope gets a firm pat on his cheek and a curt nod of approval, of all things.

“Eh, you’re good,” Benny decides, one corner of his lips curving into a smirk. “Not that easy to fuck up your pretty face, huh?”

Benny steps back, leaving Santiago both profusely confused and relieved. But then again, it’s Benny, and Pope will take this unapologetic weirdness over his anger anytime.

“Anyway, don’t you have somewhere to be, man?”

Santiago takes a quick look at the clock. “Fuck.”

From now on, it’s a scramble to find his keys and wallet and leave as soon as possible, all to Benny’s loud, unabashed laughter. He’s going to be late for work, it’s all Benny’s fault, and Pope can’t bring himself to mind.

* * *

Frankie comes over in the evening, a little earlier than he said he would when Santiago called him yesterday. With Will still not back from the carwash, it’s only the two of them and Pope’s kind of glad – they don’t see each other nearly as much as they should. It’s good to see Catfish make himself at home here, taking a beer out of the fridge without permission because he knows he doesn’t need one.

“So, how’s retirement working for you?” Frankie asks as they settle in the living room.

Pope shrugs. “Just like you can imagine it would. Feels like the last twenty years are finally catching up to me.”

Catfish’s gaze is sharp and expectant when he looks at Santiago. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To get out of the job and finally have some peace?”

“Easier said than done, I guess,” Santiago answers, keeping his voice light.

Catfish nods and takes a sip of his beer, eyes softening a little. “At least you have company. It’s good you two live together.”

“It is,” Pope admits easily. “But I’m thinking about moving out soon.”

“Yeah? Who pisses whom off?”

“Nobody’s pissing anybody off, Frankie. I just can’t live here forever,” Santiago explains. Whether he does it with patience or just resignation, he can’t be sure. “Will has his own life. And, you know, kind of difficult for him to have anyone over with me around all the time.”

Frankie raises an eyebrow at him. “Not the other way around?”

“Come on, Fish. I can’t even deal with my own shit right now. It’ll be a while until I can deal with anyone else’s.”

“And I thought that’s exactly your way of dealing with shit. Well, look at you now,” Catfish muses, but there’s no judgement in his tone.

Pope really appreciates him being like that. Understanding, even when unwilling to put up with Santiago’s bullshit.

“And what, you’re not going crazy from all that sitting around?” Frankie continues with his inquiries, all good-natured concern that makes Santiago comfortable in sharing what he’s ready to share.

“I’m starting to,” Pope says slowly. “I don’t know for sure if it’s going to get better or worse the longer I’m here but I can make an educated guess.”

“You’ll see. It all takes time, Pope. But yeah, staying put isn’t exactly something you’ve ever been good at.”

“I know. Ironhead thought getting out of the city may help, though.”

“So that’s what busy meant when I called you on the weekend?” Frankie asks after Santiago’s proceeded to tell him about the road trip. “You assholes were drinking beer and watching sunsets?”

“Kind of,” Santiago agrees. It’s not far from the truth after all.

Frankie lets out a drawn-out hum of vague acknowledgement, as if that explained a lot. And it probably did, knowing Catfish. Santiago can fool Will and Benny. He can fool himself too, certainly. But Frankie? Never. Fish is just nice enough to let him keep up appearances.

Santiago’s saved from any comments aimed at those appearances by the sound of the front door unlocking and opening, and a minute later Will joins them in the living room.

“Catfish,” Ironhead greets. “Already here?”

Frankie rises from his seat to pull Will into one-armed hug. “Uh-huh. Pope’s just been telling me about your little trip.”

“Yeah?” Will perches on the armrest to Santiago’s right, giving him a brief look before addressing Catfish again. “And did he also tell you I almost broke his nose out there?”

“Not on purpose,” Santiago clarifies quickly just as Frankie’s eyes snap to him.

“What the fuck happened?”

Before Pope can open his mouth, Will’s hand is on his shoulder, pressing lightly. He gets the message.

“Some kids were trying to pick a fight,” William explains, voice calm. “Pope came up behind me and I hit him in the face. Didn’t mean to.”

“Got a little carried away?” Frankie moves closer to Santiago on the couch, sending Will a look over Pope’s head.

“No. Just surprised.”

“When was that?” Catfish asks, eyes on Pope’s face again and brows furrowed a little. He sounds curious more than anything else, which helps Santiago fight off the need to stress that he’s to blame for the whole situation.

“Sunday,” he answers instead and for a second time that day he lets himself be inspected. The hand on his shoulder still rests there, unmoving.

It doesn’t take long before Frankie leans back, shrugging. “Still ugly.”

“Fuck off,” Santiago chuckles and jerks his chin in Ironhead’s direction. “So, he’s in the clear with the kids?”

“Ah, I should’ve known that’s what this is about. Don’t worry.” Fish reaches up to clap Will firmly on the arm and slides back to his seat. “I’ll talk to Esme, but if you’re asking me, it’s all good. The kids like it here. And it’s either you or my mother-in-law babysitting them.”

“I take it you don’t exactly get along with her,” Will says, his fingers squeezing Santiago’s shoulder lightly before slipping away.

“Well, you don’t keep telling me I should spend more time with my kids every time I see you. Like I don’t fucking know that,” Frankie mutters. He finishes his beer and puts the bottle on the coffee table with a little bit more force than necessary, a clear sign he’s also finished with the subject.

With the important matters out of the way, the conversation easily turns to less meaningful ones. Fish stays with them for the whole evening and it’s good, so good to have him here, just talking over drinks, sharing old stories.

Still, everything Santiago does around Will feels too bold under Catfish’s watchful gaze, so he at least tries to be subtle, maybe even succeeds. But when Frankie goes to the kitchen to get another beer Pope stretches out his leg, knocking it against Ironhead’s to get his attention. Their eyes meet and Santiago tilts his head in a silent _all right?_.

Will nods in answer, and the small smile he gives Santiago is gentle, intimate, making him wish he could stroke his thumbs along the corners of Ironhead’s eyes, where they crinkle.

Sometimes no words are needed between them.

* * *

In the days that follow, the weather slowly turns to shit. The steady rain brings the pain back to Santiago’s injured joints, and the temperature drops significantly, marking the end of the summer. In contrast to the outside, the apartment stays warm.

Once or twice Santiago forces himself to sit down and browse through the apartments to rent. It only reminds him of all the things he would need to buy, and arrange, and take care of, things he really doesn’t want to be doing. Unsurprisingly, staring hard at his bank account balance brings no consolation, so he just spends his days wondering if getting a place within a walking distance from Will’s is reasonable or just desperate.

And Will doesn’t exactly make it easier. He seems to be a little more mindful of the times they touch, which in turn keeps Santiago on edge, but he initiates the contact as often as he did before. They’re back to their usual comfortable closeness, and Pope’s thankful for every minute of it – now more than ever, with that one day of Will’s reluctance still fresh in his memory. He just makes sure there’s no reason to doubt the casual nature of the contact _he_ initiates and enjoys the way they are with each other, trying not to think about how much he’s going to miss it.

It’s a late Monday morning, gray and cloudy, when Ironhead comes home dripping wet, looking like he’s been rolling on the ground instead of running. There’s mud and grass stains all over his clothes, earphones hanging off his neck.

“Morning,” Santiago says, walking into the hallway and stopping short at the sight. “Uh. And what happened to you?”

“A very excited dog,” Will answers, rubbing his eyes with one wrist to get rid of the water caught in his lashes. “She got off the leash.”

Pope comes closer and hums quietly, looking Ironhead up and down. Judging by the paw prints on Will’s chest, that dog must’ve been like, half his size. “Owner’s lucky you were there to catch that dog.”

Ironhead hesitates a second before unzipping his hoodie and getting out of it with a roll of his shoulders. “She kinda got off my leash. I’ve been taking the dogs from the shelter for my runs for a while now.”

“Well, I’m not even surprised,” Santiago answers honestly. “So? Do you have a one that you particularly like?”

“Maybe.” Will smiles slowly. He could’ve as well admit he already has a dog picked out and he’s bringing it home tomorrow.

Pope smiles back, and in the silence that falls between them he can hear the song still playing in Ironhead’s earphones. Santiago knows it - or rather he thinks he does, because that’s not what he’d expect to be Will’s music of choice. Ironhead moves to squeeze past him then, but goes still again when Santiago catches his forearm, fine hair and skin cool under his hand.

It brings them closer, much closer, and Will smells of fresh sweat and morning rain.

“Wait.”

Santiago reaches for one of Ironhead’s earphones with his free hand and leans forward to put it in his ear. Oh yeah, that’s _exactly_ what he thought it was. And while the dogs really aren’t surprising, the familiar heavy metal definitely is.

Pope looks up at William, a pleased grin spreading on his face. “Really? You run with shelter dogs and now you listen to Metallica. Voluntarily. Do you have any more fun secrets to share, man?”

“No more fun ones,” Ironhead answers and then a tiny shiver, noticeable only because of how close they stand to each other, runs down his spine. Santiago doesn’t miss it, just like he can’t miss Ironhead’s skin breaking into goosebumps right under his fingers. “Pope—"

“Shit, sorry, you’re getting cold here.” Santiago drops the earphone and moves out of the way to let Will through, taking the hoodie out of his hand. “Give me that, we’re doing laundry. Just put the rest of your clothes in the washing machine later.”

Will doesn’t move right away though. He shifts a little, probably uncomfortable in his wet clothes, and lets out a long breath. “Thanks.”

When Ironhead finally walks past him, t-shirt soaked through and clinging to broad shoulders, Santiago follows him with his eyes until the man disappears around the corner. Insistent thoughts about cool pale skin flooding his mind already, Pope goes to throw William’s hoodie into the washing machine. He tries to keep those thoughts at bay, but succeeds about as much as he always does. Which means – not at all.

He goes back to his room and sits down on the bed, thinking of the ways he could warm Ironhead up until he’s flushed and shivering under Santiago’s hands for altogether different reasons. The images, all of them too vivid and fucking indecent, appear and vanish one by one, forced away. But he’s weak, too weak to just stop there, and to the faint sound of the water running in the bathroom, Santiago imagines how he could _keep_ William warm. Pulling the covers over their bodies and holding him close.

Good thing there’s at least a line somewhere, and more often than not, imagining Will’s purposeful touch on his body feels like crossing it. As if he doesn’t overstep any existing boundaries by feeling about Ironhead like he does in the first place, Santiago reminds himself.

He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, puts his face in his hands and just breathes, in and out, until he gets a hold of himself. Of his traitorous mind, traitorous body, and traitorous heart.

Right on time, too. Ten minutes later Will peeks through the half-open door to Santiago’s room, dressed in fresh sweats, looking softer than any grown man has the right to look.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure. Come in,” Santiago says, ignoring everything he’s told himself about inviting Will into his bedroom lately. But that’s the risk that comes with living with Ironhead. This man can break through Santiago’s every resolve with one word, one look, and there’s not much Pope can do about it.

Ironhead steps inside and crosses the room without hurry. He’s equally pretty in whatever he wears, but Santiago likes it best when he’s like this, in old sweatshirt and loose pants held in place by a drawstring. Not much work would be needed to strip them off, to get to the flesh and muscles hidden underneath thick cotton. And abstract as it is, that’s not a though that should cross Santiago’s mind as Ironhead sinks down right next to him and pulls one of his knees onto the bed, turning to face him.

Jesus. Constant and certain in Will’s company, a moderate sexual frustration is Santiago’s default state by now, but today he’s just fucking losing it. It’s rather easy to focus when William has that serious look on his face though, effectively cooling the blood in Santiago’s veins.

“So,” Ironhead starts, a tentative note in his voice that would earn him Santiago’s full attention if he didn’t already have that. “With Catfish looking for a job, that deal of ours is gonna end soon. Thought I should ask you about your plans.”

Well, here it is. Santiago’s been waiting for this talk – anxiously, but with a sense of acceptance that comes with all things inevitable – so he’s prepared, as much as he’ll ever be.

He doesn’t know why Will’s bringing it up now. Why not yesterday, when one of them mentioned paying for the kids’ classes. Or why not the night before, when they were chuckling at the idea of Frankie in civil aviation on their way home from the nearest bar, their pace unhurried despite the cold drizzle.

It doesn’t matter, though. This talk was bound to happen sooner or later, and it’s happening now. Whether Pope likes it or not.

“Oh, that,” Santiago answers, proud of himself that it comes out steady, almost perfectly casual.  “I’ve already started looking for my own place, actually. It’ll take some time but I’m, uh. I’m working on it.”

Will makes a low sound, an acknowledgement of sorts, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “Yeah, I guess you should finally have your own space and all.”

Santiago cocks his head to the side, neither confirming nor denying. “I think I’ve bothered you enough,” he says. “But thank you for letting me stay here all this time, Will. Really.”

Will gives him a small smile in answer, one that tells Santiago what he already knows – that there’s no trading favors between them. He came back to the USA with nothing to his name, needed a place to figure his shit out, and that’s exactly what Will gave him. Simple as that, a privilege that comes with friendships like theirs, bonds like theirs.

And since Ironhead already has an answer to his question, the conversation should end here, with an _okay_ and maybe _so what are we having for lunch._ But silence falls between them instead, and Will’s looking at Santiago like he’s searching for more answers.

“Listen,” he says at last. “I'm asking you this 'cause I feel like it's been working for us. Living together.”

True. Ironhead doesn’t know the fucked up part of it, the part that includes the not-so-innocent nature of Santiago’s lingering touches, but he’s right. And he’s obviously getting somewhere with this, so Pope takes a deep, slow breath and waits for William to continue.

“I mean, you’ll do as you want, obviously. If you’d rather get your own place, it’s fine. But I just wanna tell you,” Will hesitates, and Santiago thinks, pleads in his mind, _don’t_. “If you think it’d be any easier for you to stay, then the room’s still yours.”

And even if the words tug at something in his chest, _hard_ , it’s not that Santiago didn’t expect to hear them. He’s suspected – feared – that Ironhead, being a decent man and a great friend he is, would tell him as much. But to actually hear him say it, to be given permission to do what Pope knows isn’t a _right_ thing to do—

He realizes he was silent for a second too long when Will lowers his gaze, just for a moment, before looking up again.

“I can’t promise you I won’t—" Will pauses, changes his mind. “That it will always be easy. But I guess you know what you’d be getting yourself into.”

Santiago just stares. It’s unbelievable how this man can be so fucking calm saying things like this, implying what Pope doesn’t want to hear about. He's right again though; Santiago _knows_ , and he knows _Will_. His strength, his kindness and his temper. His past too, because he’s been there for the most of it, and he knows the ways in which it hurt him.

And because of that, Santiago also knows what he’d be getting himself into – the easy, familiar rhythm they have, the comforting warmth of a place he calls home, the company of a man he can borrow courage from.

The never-ending, hopeless longing too, but that’s beside the point.

Pope draws a long breath to give himself another second. “Will,” he says and immediately shuts up, shocked how the word sounds to his own ears. He tries again, this time putting effort into keeping his emotions out of his voice. “You, uh. You sure you’d want me to stay? ‘Cause it’s been a few months—“

“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise,” Ironhead cuts in gently, holding Santiago’s gaze. He’s so fucking sincere it makes Pope want to avert his eyes and beg, out loud this time, _don’t do this to me._

He stays quiet. There’s nothing he can say to that without lying either to himself or Will, or worse – breaking and telling the truth.

Because leaving’s hard enough as it is, let alone when Santiago knows William still wants him here, with him. Just like this, like they always are; together, sharing space, waiting for each other to come home. But none of these things mean Santiago _should_ stay and—

 _Easy_ , Pope tells himself firmly. _Calm the fuck down_. He has the whole night to think about choosing between what he wants and what is right. There will be time, later on, to convince himself that he shouldn’t be taking advantage of Will’s generosity, of his obliviousness, anymore. To convince himself he should still move, even if maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to.

There will be time for that, no reason to start now.

Some of the conflict Santiago feels inside must be showing on his face, because Ironhead speaks again before he can. “Hey, you don’t have to decide right now,” Will assures. “Just think about it, okay?”

“Yeah,” Santiago promises through the tightness in his throat. “Yeah, I will.”

William nods, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Okay,” he says softly, that one word almost a whisper before he continues, “Let me know when you make up your mind.”

Ironhead shifts slowly and stands up in one smooth movement that instantly makes Santiago want to catch his wrist and pull, tug at him until William’s standing between his spread legs. A sudden need grows inside Pope, strong and persistent, to wrap his arms around Will’s waist and, with his lips pressed to Will’s side, confess that he wants to stay – here, with him, forever. His control is still stronger though, if only barely.

Ironhead turns to leave and Pope watches him go until Will stops in the doorway. He hesitates there, looking at Santiago over his shoulder.

“You hungry, Pope?”

Santiago blinks at him in momentary confusion before he realizes it’s a completely normal thing for Ironhead to say. Because they still share an apartment. Maybe not for much longer, but right now they _do_. And they still do things together – because it makes sense, because it’s easier this way. Because they both like it. And that’s why in a minute he’ll be in the kitchen, scrolling through the recipes, telling Ironhead what to prepare and how.

“Yeah. You too?”

Will nods in answer, shifting on his legs and turning back a little. Waiting for him. And Santiago stands up – the pain in his knees barely noticeable – and follows, lets their arms press together in a silent _let’s go_.

“We’re making lunch, then.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santiago tries to convince himself to do the right thing and find his own place. Will is, predictably, not helpful at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone. I wish you all a better year than any other before. This fic, the feedback on it and your support were the highlights of 2019 for me.  
> Also, in 2020 I wish myself to start writing regularly ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The time to consider his choices comes, just like Santiago expected, soon enough.

Will’s offer to stay at his place for the indefinite future keeps him up for a few consecutive nights. The hours he wastes in his bed before falling asleep right before dawn bring no solution, as if there _is_ one except sucking it up and getting his own place. It’s still really fucking tempting to ignore being a burden for Will, the obvious risks of living here – both of which Santiago is perfectly, painfully aware of. He throws himself in a loop thinking about it, too scared to stay like Ironhead said he’s welcome to and too in love with him to leave.

It’s kind of funny now that Pope looks at it. He was able to run away without a second thought before, and to another fucking _continent,_ nonetheless. But he was still in his job mindset back then, the _Will is off limits and you have to live with it_ one. He didn’t know Will like he does now. The way he is at home, warm and broken and strong, effortlessly supportive. More understanding than Pope could ever deserve. And always so, so close, making Santiago crazy with want and teaching him, slowly but surely, that there is life after putting down your gun.

It’s just fucking hard to walk away from that.

Pope knows he has to, though, and he will, no matter that he’s being a whiny bitch about it right now. It just takes the courage he doesn’t have yet to tell Will that, while he has Santiago’s eternal gratitude, it’s time for him to start living on his own. The whole matter, Pope guesses, would be easier to discuss if he knew exactly when he’s moving and where to, without much room to change his mind.

That’s exactly the thought that drags Santiago out of his bed in the middle of the night. He has work tomorrow; it would be a responsible thing to do to try and get some sleep, but he makes himself comfortable at the kitchen table with his laptop instead. With a cup of tea at his elbow that he barely takes a few sips from, he gets back to looking through the apartments he’d possibly want to live in.

And barely fifteen minutes in he catches himself being unreasonably picky. He doesn’t exactly need much after all, but there’s always something wrong about the places he reads about, something he doesn’t like in the pictures. It doesn’t take Santiago a lot of self-reflection to realize he’s just stalling. Making up excuses to delay moving out, like a complete idiot.

Santiago lets his head drop onto his forearms, crossed on the tabletop, and muffles an annoyed groan in the crook of his elbow. With his feet up on the chair opposite of him where he put them in the meantime, he ends up in an exceptionally uncomfortable position and, honestly, he couldn’t care less at the moment. Ignoring the strain in the back of his knees and neck – fuck, his body is going to make him pay for such treatment tomorrow – he closes his eyes and tries to sort through the mess in his head that made him unable to sleep in the first place.

He doesn’t know for how long he stays like this, not asleep but not entirely awake either, until he hears the quiet creak of a doorknob followed by soft footsteps in the hallway. The footsteps grow louder as they approach, stopping somewhere nearby, and Santiago waits for Will to say something, because Will is the considerate one out of two of them. He takes care not to startle people that may have the reasons not to like it.

“Rough night?”

Santiago opens his eyes to look up at Ironhead but doesn’t move otherwise. “Mm. Yours, too?”

“My sleep’s better than it should be. Doesn’t mean it’s good,” Will reminds him, not unkindly. His voice is low, deeper than usual with lingering sleep. It turns the quiet stillness of the night into something a little less stifling.

“Yeah, I figured,” Pope answers, finally lifting his head, and winces at the stiffness in his… pretty much everything. Will comes closer then, close enough to reach out and tap his fingers against the side of Santiago’s right leg, just above where the scar is hidden under his sweatpants.

“Knees again?”

“Not this time.” Santiago puts his feet down on the floor and away from Will’s hands before the man can feel obliged to check for himself. “You’re welcome to keep me company, though.”

Not the smartest thing to say, considering Will is the indirect reason for Pope’s midnight wandering, but then again, he’s not going to make things any worse if he sits with Santiago until one of them returns to bed. Ironhead seems reluctant though, hovering instead of deciding to either stay or go.

“But if you think could go back to sleep, you should,” Santiago adds.

“I don’t,” Will says eventually, sending Santiago a quick smile and a look that explains more than words would, and Pope wishes he could offer him better comfort during the restless nights than just sitting around in companionable silence.

But poor as the offer is, William still takes it. He leaves for a short moment to bring himself a book and when he comes back, he makes them both fresh tea. Neither of them even likes tea, they only bought it for guests and kids, but two a.m. is just strange like that, Pope supposes. He gets back to the open tabs and pictures of tiny apartments, trying to focus on those instead of Will’s shin pressing against his as Ironhead takes the other chair and stretches his legs under the table.

Turns out, Will’s calming presence does wonders even now – all it takes for Santiago is an occasional glance over the screen of his laptop to be reminded of the reasons he’s looking for his own apartment. Will deserves the peace and freedom at his place to invite whoever he wants, whenever he wants. He shouldn’t feel responsible for a friend that lives with him, shouldn’t be up at weird hours making sure said friend is all right either. Pope can’t shake off the feeling that’s the case most of the times they meet at night like that.

Yeah, one glance at Will, engrossed in whatever he reads and gnawing absentmindedly at the inside of his lower lip, is all it takes for Santiago to remember this man deserves better. And it works, gets him back on track.

They stay long after their tea gets cold. It’s nice, their legs brushing lightly under the table when one of them rearranges, and Santiago would gladly sit here until morning. But he also notices that Will hasn’t turned the page in quite a while and stares at the sentences in his book instead of reading them.

Up to Santiago to suggest going back to sleep, then.

“Okay, enough of this,” he says, shutting down the laptop and getting up to stand by Ironhead’s side. “Get your ass back to bed, man, you’re falling asleep.”

Made bold and stupid by the late hour, Santiago slides his hand to the back of Will’s neck and shakes gently for emphasis. He can’t help the way his fingers tighten in the muscles at Will’s nape when the man leans into the touch – instinctively, just seeking warmth, judging by the cool skin above his collar – and blinks up at him, eyelids heavy.

Pope assumes he could get away with a lot right now. He could ruffle Will’s hair, maybe even cup his jaw afterwards in a hold firm enough to come across as playful, and Ironhead would just take it for a friendly attempt at keeping him awake. But since he doesn’t trust himself to make it seem meaningless if he tries any of that, doesn’t trust his touch not to turn into a caress mid-stroke, Santiago takes his hand back instead, careful not to draw Will’s attention by moving too abruptly.

A slight frown passes through Ironhead’s handsome features, but a mighty yawn interrupts him right after, giving him no choice but to turn his head and cover his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Will mumbles from behind his hand.

“I know I am.” Santiago reaches to grab his laptop and pats Will’s shoulder to get him going. “Come on.”

He takes a step back to let Ironhead stand up and watches him put a piece of paper between the pages to mark the progress – Will never folds the edges, never leaves his books open and face-down, but uses whatever that can pass as a bookmark. An old shopping list for example, like he does now, some of it written by him and some by Santiago. Every time the handwriting changes, the letters get a bit bigger too, ridiculously huge at the bottom. Looks like they were having fun making it. Must have been a while ago, because Santiago doesn’t remember getting competitive writing a fucking grocery shopping list.

The makeshift bookmark disappears between the pages as Will puts the book away and gets up, movements slowed down and limbs heavy.

“Go ahead, I’ll turn off the light,” Santiago says as he puts their empty cups in the sink with his free hand. He gets a low noise of agreement in answer, but instead of just saying goodnight and passing by, Will lingers behind him.

He’s tired, Pope reminds himself when Ironhead’s hand slides warmly across his back. And possibly a little touch starved, like the particularly bad nights might make you feel. It’s just a way to get his attention, barely any different from a tap on the shoulder.

“And you?” Will murmurs softly. “You think you’re gonna fall asleep?”

Santiago turns slightly to look at him, well aware of how the shift makes him lean back into the length of Will’s arm. Their eyes meet and all Pope can do is sigh at the sleepy concern he sees in the blue. This. This and the prickling of his skin under Ironhead’s hand remind him how fucking unfair it would be to stay.

There, in their – in _Will’s_ – kitchen, at the most unreasonable hour to be awake, a sense of acceptance downs on Pope. A strange clarity of mind along with it, bringing the prospect of a few hours of undisturbed sleep.

“Yeah,” Santiago breathes. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay.” Will’s whisper is as soft as the smile he sends Santiago. “‘Night.”

Ironhead moves his hand on Pope’s back then – two slow, soothing strokes between his shoulder blades. Firm and certain. The warmth seeps into Santiago’s spine even as the touch slips away, and he thinks he can feel the lingering brush of fingers down his back even as he watches Will go back to his bedroom.

It’s somehow easier now to think that there’s not many nights like this left for them, Santiago realizes as he listens to Ironhead’s retreating footsteps. He told Will about Colombia all those years ago, told him (and lied, but that doesn’t really matter) about Australia after the heist. He’s going to tell him about moving out the exact same way.

Soon.

* * *

Their mostly sleepless night results in a slow day afterwards, with Will rather unsuccessfully stifling yawns from time to time. Nothing about him can ever be described as lazy, but that afternoon he stretches out on the couch to finish his book all loose-limbed and beautiful and, unwilling to disturb him, Santiago decides to go grocery shopping alone. Still, it takes a bit of arguing and a gentle push to Will’s shoulder to keep him from rising. A lot of self-control for Santiago to take his hand back and leave the apartment, too.

He gets a call from Frankie when he’s in the washing detergent aisle. A few words in and Pope learns just how good it is to hear the proudness that rings, subtle but clear, in his best friend’s voice.

“I think I got a job,” Fish tells him, and Santiago feels a grin spreading on his face. For a split second there he wants to look around, find Will and share the news with him. He doesn’t waste time dwelling on the disappointment that washes over him as he remembers he’s on his own this time.

“Yeah? A good one, I hope.” Pope can already guess the answer. Fish was working persistently to get back to flying as soon as possible and it looks as it might finally pay off. Santiago likes witnessing changes like these.

“Uh-huh. This one businessman needs someone to fly him around sometimes. We’ll see if he can handle military-style piloting.”

Santiago chuckles into his phone. “You might want to tone it down a little bit for him if you want to keep that job.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Fish also huffs a laugh. “You know what’s funny? They pay good money, so it’s not that I’m complaining, but it’s a suit and tie kind of job.”

“How the times have changed,” Santiago teases, but slips into sincerity right after. “Happy for you, Fish.”

He is. He really, really is.

“Thanks.” A beat of silence follows the word, a moment of quiet contentment between the two of them. “And unless some shit’s going down,” Frankie continues in a lighter tone, “I’m taking my lady out on a date to celebrate on Friday. I’ll drop the kids off at your place at six.”

Fish has enough decency to make it sound almost like a question, so Santiago chuckles but agrees nonetheless, like a good friend that he is. Ignoring the fact he should still grab a few other things, he's pushing his cart towards the checkout before his phone is back in his pocket. He wants to go home. He’s just been reminded he should stop thinking about Will’s place as such, for his own sake, and he can’t deny that it’s a nudge he needed to hurry up with getting his own apartment. But he just wants to tell Ironhead the good news.

He gets back to Will dozing off on the couch, though, one hand resting half on his stomach and half on the cover of a closed book. For five heartbeats – suddenly hard against his ribs and therefore easy to count – Santiago lets himself watch the even rise and fall of Will's chest. How the hell Ironhead managed to stay asleep through the front door opening and closing, through the noise of him moving around, is a mystery, and Pope firmly pushes the explanations of safety and trust, obvious and treacherous in equal measure, out of his thoughts. Mindful of the thin boundary between inappropriately daring and outright creepy, he tears his eyes away from the sliver of fair skin on Will’s abdomen where the gray long-sleeve Henley rode up and backs out of the living room without making another sound. He can wait a bit with what he has to say.

But because he is weak, so, so weak, he comes back a moment later to throw a blanket over Will’s legs.

* * *

On Friday Frankie drops the kids off at Will and Santiago’s place, their hallway immediately getting crowded with too many people exchanging hellos and goodbyes. Esme’s here too, in a red floral dress, patiently checking if her children have everything they need and telling them to have fun.

“Thanks for watching them tonight,” she says after dropping a kiss on her younger daughter’s cheek and nudging her towards Santiago, who crouches to say hello and return the little girl’s enthusiastic hug.

“Thank you,” he tells Esme over her daughter’s head. _No problem_ doesn’t feel like it’s enough, and Will seems to think so too, because he follows with his own thanks, quiet and sincere. Esme gives them both, one after another, a long look that can make the bravest soldier tremble in fear, but the smile she sends them right after is surprisingly kind.

Then Lucia pulls at Pope’s hand, calling his name, demanding attention and being overall absolutely adorable. Her siblings push between him and William to get further into the apartment at the same time, and Santiago finds himself very grateful for the chaos those kids bring with themselves wherever they go. He knows it’s going to be a long night when Miguel looks at him with wide eyes over a big grocery bag, balanced precariously in his arms.

“What have you got there, buddy?”

“We’re making pizza!” the boy announces, clearly excited.

“Yeah?” Santiago peeks into the bag. The kid can’t possibly mean they’re going to make it from scratch. “You know it can be ordered, right?”

“It’s not the same,” Miguel argues, so Santiago takes the effort not to sigh out loud and just points him to the kitchen.

Catfish snorts quietly. “Good luck,” he says, and with that and a sympathetic pat on Pope’s shoulder he and Esme leave for their date.

“And you?” Will turns to Elena after closing the door behind her parents.

“And I’m gonna fail math this year,” she replies, holding up a notebook. Santiago realizes they somehow missed the start of the schoolyear.

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Will tells Elena, turning what would sound dismissive in anyone else’s mouth into a genuine reassurance. “We can take a look at it together if you want to.”

Elena agrees with an air of resignation about her that has Pope hiding a smile behind his hand and she leaves them in the hallway to find a comfortable spot for doing her homework. The moment they’re alone with the youngest kid, Will places a hand above Santiago’s elbow.

“Ready?”

“Never,” Santiago says flatly. But it brings an amused glint to Ironhead’s eyes and that is all that matters.

 

Santiago is fairly sure he won’t be able to look at pizza for a month after today. He sends Miguel off to check on his sisters as soon as they’re finished but has no more than five minutes to deal with the mess they’ve made before Elena wanders into the kitchen.

“Hey.” Pope looks up at her from the knife he’s washing. “Already done with your homework?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he continues carefully, slightly confused by Elena’s blank face and curt answer. “So, how’s Will at explaining math?”

“Good, I guess. Or maybe it wasn’t really that hard anyway,” she muses, looking around the kitchen and hovering awkwardly by the door. “You need help?”

“Not really,” Santiago admits, frowning. The girl is offering to help with a mess she had nothing to do with making and she hasn’t met his eyes since she walked in. “But you can clean up the table, if you want?”

Elena takes a wet sponge and a dish towel he hands her and wipes down the table a bit too thoroughly for Santiago’s comfort. By the time she’s done, sitting in front of the oven and staring into it, Pope has accepted the thought that he has no choice but to press for answers. Not that he knows how. Will doesn’t help much either when Santiago peeks into the living room to throw him a questioning glance together with a nod towards the kitchen. He pauses briefly in showing the younger kids the gifts they brought from the road trip and gives Pope nothing but a helpless shake of his head, lips pressed in a tight line.

Still at loss about what happened, Santiago goes back to the kitchen and pulls up another chair. They sit like that for a full minute, watching the cheese melt, before Pope decides he at least has to try.

“Okay, what’s up?” he breaks the silence, feeling incredibly awkward. He really has no idea how to deal with upset kids. “You do your homework and right after that you want to help with cleaning up. On a Friday night. Come on, nobody does that. Talk to me.”

It takes Elena a long moment to find her words. “It’s Will,” she says, still hesitant. “I think I’m bothering him.”

“Our Will?” Santiago asks before he can bite his tongue. First, _our_ , what the fuck. Second, Will? “The same Will that your sister throws toys at and he barely blinks an eye?”

“Feels like it.” Elena jerks her shoulder in a tense shrug. “Last time we were here he promised we’d go through what I learned in my BJJ classes with him. And now he’s saying he’s not that good anyway and I should ask Benny next time I see him.”

Oh. Of course. It makes sense now.

Santiago lets out a discreet sigh. Still, even with how proud Elena is about her new skills, it’s kind of surprising that she cares that much about showing them to Will. That she cares if Will finds her annoying. Which Santiago can swear is not true, but he doesn’t even know where to begin with trying to explain the situation.

 _I fucked up and made him question himself,_ Santiago wants to say, _so please don’t be mad at him. He cares about you and your siblings, and I do, too. So fucking much. Will only wants to keep you safe. And he thinks – but he is wrong, so, so wrong – that it means keeping you away from him sometimes._

 _You, your brother and your sister,_ Santiago wants to tell her, just to make her understand how much they mean to their uncles, _make us remember that there’s still some innocence in this world. You make us believe that we’re not good for nothing except killing people._

Too much to drop on a twelve-year-old, perhaps.

“Whatever,” Elena says after Santiago’s too-long silence, trying for a dismissive tone. “I know it’s stupid.”

Pope looks over at her. “It’s not. He promised, after all,” he begins. “But I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just… He’s got a lot going on. And I think he told you no because he may be scared.”

He really tries not to sound like he’s explaining something to a stupid child. Maybe even succeeds, because when Elena turns to him sharply, her frown is of a confused and not an angry kind.

“Will, scared? Of me? That’s bullshit,” she says, her dark eyes – her mother’s eyes, Santiago realizes suddenly – widening in mild panic. “Don’t tell my parents I said that.”

“I won’t,” Santiago promises easily, certain that she throws fucks around when she talks to her friends anyway. “Scared of hurting you, I mean. He wouldn’t, ever, I promise. But Will worries a lot and I think he might be worried about that, too.”

It’s Elena’s turn to fall silent then. She mulls over Santiago’s words, her brows drawn together, but thankfully doesn’t ask _why?_.

“Does it make any sense or just sounds like bullshit? And don’t tell your parents I said that.”

The corners of Elena’s mouth twitches in what looks like a beginning of a smile. “I mean, it’s good to know he doesn’t think I’m annoying or anything.”

“He doesn’t,” Santiago assures again, just for it to be clear. “Just give him some time, okay?”

Elena opens her mouth, probably to agree if Santiago senses correctly, but her younger brother chooses the exact same moment to storm into the kitchen with his hands full of postcards and keychains. As Miguel pulls her back to the living room, talking animatedly about choosing the gifts for herself and their parents, the girl throws Santiago a rather comforting grin over her shoulder.

Maybe he somehow managed to do something right for once.

 

Pizza turns out to be decent and, in Santiago’s honest opinion, absolutely not worth his effort. But the kids are fed and happy, and Will steals another slice for himself, so Pope’s inclined to think it _was_ worth it. A little bit.

They spent the next few hours in front of the TV, Will and Santiago squeezed in the middle, so the kids could make sure they’d stay and watch the whole movie they chose (because _what do you mean, you’ve never seen it?_ ). It’s about dragons, and Pope’s not a big fan of animations in general, but at least they don’t sing in this one. Still, their couch was made for two people, three if they were friendly. With two grown men _and_ two kids sitting together Santiago ended up pressed together with Ironhead from knee to shoulder, so close it’s almost uncomfortable. Almost.

Miguel fell asleep halfway through the movie, his head on Santiago’s left shoulder, and Elena lasted till the end but curled up against Will’s side the moment the credits started rolling. Except for playing another movie afterwards – there are monsters and robots, Pope isn’t really watching – neither man moves until Santiago’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Miraculously, he manages to read the text without either waking Miguel up with his squirming or elbowing Will in the ribs.

“Frankie. He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Santiago informs in a low voice and tips his phone to show Will that it’s well past midnight. “They took their time.”

“Catfish’s got a marriage to maintain,” Will says softly almost straight to his ear. “Hard enough even without three kids, I guess.”

“I’m sure it is,” Santiago answers, thinking briefly about someone else’s failed marriage, about other kids, fatherless now. Not that he actually knows just how difficult any of that can be. “Come on, we need to wake them up.”

Will makes a low noise of agreement but doesn’t move. “In ten minutes.”

Santiago chuckles quietly and finally turns his head to look at Will. He’s close enough for Pope to count his lashes, so Santiago lets his gaze slide down to his arm instead, slung protectively around Elena’s shoulders. “Really? You’re soft, man.”

“Oh yeah? I’m not the one with flour on my sleeve,” Will points out. He turns his other hand where it rests on his thigh and rubs his thumb along the smudge on the cuff of Santiago’s sweater. The angle is awkward though, and Pope can feel Will’s thumb skim the naked skin on his wrist at the end of the stroke.

“I don’t want to hear about pizza ever again.”

“Sure,” Will drawls teasingly. The look he sends Santiago out of the corner of his eye is warm, playful even. “Until the next time he asks.”

“Maybe,” Pope admits lightly as there’s no point in arguing and tilts his head back, feeling rather than hearing Will chuckle at him. They can sit for a moment longer, he supposes. Ironhead rubbed the flour off his sleeve, but his hand still rests against Santiago’s and it feels good to just stay like that for another minute.

Just another minute, though, because that’s as much as Santiago’s heart can take.

“Okay, come on, man. We still need to get the baby,” Pope says once he gathered the strength to move. He lays a careful hand on Miguel’s shoulder and gives him a shake, and then a slightly harder second one when the previous doesn’t seem to work. “Wake up, buddy. Your parents will be here in a few minutes.”

When Miguel’s finally awake enough to understand what’s being said to him, Santiago turns to see that Will made no attempt to wake Elena up.

“Fine,” Pope says in answer to Ironhead’s apologetic look, and reaches around him to nudge the girl awake.

“Thanks,” Will tells him then, genuine gratitude evident in that one word whispered straight to Santiago’s ear. Suddenly reminded why leaning over Ironhead like this instead of approaching from Elena’s other side was a bad idea, Pope carefully pushes himself up off the couch.

“Just don’t let them fall asleep again.”

And with that – and a reassuring smile, because he gets why Will’s being a little cautious with Elena today – Santiago leaves them to find the youngest kid. Lucia is, unsurprisingly, still sleeping soundly where they put her to bed in his room earlier. She doesn’t even stir when Pope gathers her into his arms.

Frankie shows up right after, clearly in a good mood. “That was a great fucking date, man,” he murmurs as Santiago passes him the baby. It shows; despite the usual weariness, Catfish looks at ease and promises them celebratory drinks sometime soon.

Pope helps him guide the drowsy kids to the car and when he gets back to the apartment, Will waits for him in the hallway. They both love those kids, they do, but there’s always that moment right after their departure during which Santiago shares a look with Will, the one that says _fucking finally_. Babysitting requires a particular kind of attention that neither of them is used to. A very exhausting kind.

Without a word they go back to the living room and fall on the couch, sprawling comfortably now that the space is generous. But even without a kid on either side they somehow end up unnecessarily close to each other. It’s too much effort to move his ass though, so Santiago stays where he is and enjoys the way his shoulder brushes Will’s with every intake of breath.

“What did you tell her?” Ironhead asks eventually, his tone neutral. Pope can feel William’s gaze focused on him but keeps his eyes firmly on the fight between big robots and big monsters on the screen and pretends he didn’t catch sight of Elena throwing her arms around Will’s waist in a short hug before following her father to the car.

“Not much. The truth,” Santiago says for the lack of a better answer. “She gets it.”

“Does she?” Will counters but doesn’t seem angry when Santiago turns his head to him. Just expectant, probably wondering how much of that truth Pope has shared.

“Yes. She understands you didn’t mean to piss her off and that you care about her. That’s all that matters.” For now, at least, but Santiago doesn’t have the right to say anything more than what he already has. “Elena’s a tough girl, Ironhead. Smart, too.”

Will sighs, some of the tension leaving his body with an exhale, his shoulders loosening. It makes him lean a little heavier into Pope. “I know. I just don’t want to fuck that up.”

“That makes two of us. You still owe her, though. The next time she’s here you have to let her kick your ass.”

“Can’t wait,” Ironhead chuckles in a low voice, eyes soft and very blue as he holds Santiago’s gaze.

It feels kind of weird for Pope to be the one that does the reassuring this time, but awkward as it is, it seems to work. And because that also proved to be quite fucking effective before, Santiago wants to pull Will into a tight hug for good measure, feel him relax into the embrace. He wants to make Will believe him when he tells him, lips against the crook of his neck, that he is the most trustworthy, the most reliable person he knows. That people who love him want him close.

He does none of those things.

* * *

The next few days come and go rather uneventfully. With only a few weeks left until Benny’s fight Will spends a lot of time with his brother, either at his place or at the gym. If all the shit about MMA techniques, strategy and weaknesses of Benny’s opponent Santiago’s been listening to lately is anything to go by, Ironhead’s advice is probably – and predictably – invaluable during the process of preparation. And as much as he assists his younger brother during the actual training, Pope believes Will is also the one that helps him keep calm, focused.

Santiago doesn’t miss his chance and after one of Benny’s phone calls he points out, very casually, that it seems Benny’s trainer and team don’t have all the answers. He gets a flat look of _I see what you’re doing_ from Will, but also a small, half-grateful half-uncharacteristically smug smile in return. It’s definitely worth it.

Instead of sitting around alone when Ironhead’s out, Pope finally gets his shit together and makes appointments to go and take a look at some apartments. He’s pretty fucking proud of himself that he’s finally gotten around to do it, but his efforts prove to be useless anyway; the places that appeared okay on the websites turn out to be nothing like it in real life, and Santiago can’t even blame it on his own reluctance to move. True, he doesn’t need much, but he has fucking _standards_. After all his career put him through, Pope likes to think he deserves at least a little comfort during his retirement.

With the only results being some wasted time and no actual progress, his attempts to push things forward leave him pissed off and unsettled again. The second time it happens Santiago gets back to find Will already at home and stubbornly ignores the long curious look he’s given. Ironhead prompts him with a gentle _You’re late_ , but doesn’t ask, so Santiago simply agrees and doesn’t provide any explanation.

It is like that for a short while, Will a little busier than usually with his brother’s fight and Santiago kind of pissed at himself about being unable to move out of Will’s place once and for all. That’s why Pope expects his day to go pretty much the same when he wakes up on Wednesday morning and starts getting ready for work, earphones on and music louder than his thoughts. He gets surprised the second he steps into the kitchen, though, and stops short at the sight.

Will is not out on his run like Santiago expected him to be but stands at the counter, dressed in loose sweatpants that hang low on his hips and an old t-shirt. And, well, it looks like he’s making breakfast. An actual breakfast that requires some more work and effort than a sandwich, judging by the mess in the sink and the frying pan on the stove.

Will turns his head to him then, lips curving in a smile that sends Santiago’s heart racing. He says something, his words drown out by heavy metal but easy to recognize as a greeting, and nods at two mugs of coffee waiting on the kitchen counter among various utensils and dishes, both used and clean. Pope comes closer to reach for the full one, tugging one earbud out of his ear at the same time, and takes place by Ironhead’s side. And because he tends to do stupid things with the stubbornness of a madman, despite being aware of how stupid they are, he throws his arm over Will’s shoulders. He can’t deny himself any possible contact with this man, taking opportunities while he can before getting his own place. Taking _liberties_ , even if Will doesn’t seem to mind, standing comfortably still and relaxed under Santiago’s arm.

“Morning,” Pope murmurs after the first sip of his coffee, voice tinged with confusion. “What are you doing?”

Ironhead tilts his head towards Santiago a little, as if he’s checking if Santiago’s point of view makes a difference in what he sees. “What does it look like to you?”

“Like pancakes,” Pope answers dryly, and because his hand conveniently rests over Will’s collarbone, he digs his fingers into it. Will hisses in mild annoyance, squirming a little, and moves to push him away with his elbow. At least Santiago thinks that’s what he meant to do – between Pope’s weight distributed evenly on both feet and barely any force put into the nudge, all Will succeeds in is pressing his arm, shoulder to elbow, to Santiago’s chest.

Not to ruin the morning with ugly thoughts and all too familiar guilt that always comes with those, Pope drops his arm to his side and puts some distance between them, movement smooth like he’s actually being pushed away.

“I mean, why the fuck are you making pancakes?”

Will shrugs, his gaze returning to the frying pan. “I thought I should finally try making them on my own.”

“Yeah, a useful skill to have,” Santiago agrees. “I guess you need to learn eventually, I won’t be making them for you forever.”

The words are out of his mouth before Santiago realizes they sound as if he already made up his mind about leaving. He did after all, and now that he thinks about it, maybe a casual mention here and there is better than a straightforward answer to Will’s offer. It’s definitely an easier one. Maybe weaving it into conversations will make Santiago used to the prospect of living alone.

Even if he heard it in that way, Will doesn’t bring it up. It’s hard to tell, so Santiago just sips his coffee and watches Ironhead flip the pancake carefully the moment the bubbles start forming on the batter. He looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“I hoped you’d sleep a little longer and I’d be done by the time you get up,” Will says when Santiago doesn’t move from his spot next to him after another moment.

“Hey, don’t mind me.”

“Pope.” Will shoots him an amused look out of the corner of his eye. “You can sit down, you know?”

Santiago leans his hip against the counter instead. “No fucking way, I don’t trust you not to burn them.”

Silence follows, and Santiago starts to wonder why such weak teasing would affect Will in any way when it turns out Ironhead was only waiting for him to swallow and put his mug down. The second there is no risk of spilling coffee everywhere, Will leans a little closer, sneaks one hand between them – a soft brush against Santiago’s side – and then digs his fingers into Santiago’s ribs.

“Asshole,” Ironhead murmurs, the insult laced with a fond undertone that almost turns it into an endearment. Will presses closer still when Pope shifts in protest, keeping up the not-so-painful pressure on his ribs until Santiago manages to take a hold of his wrist and force his hand away from his body.

“Not my fault you suck at cooking, man,” Santiago chuckles, suddenly breathless, and tightens his hold on Ironhead’s wrist when the man struggles to reach for his side again. Pope would gladly fight back, but that would mean even more touching – his limbs tangled with Will’s and hands wandering in hope to make him laugh, to make him squirm some more and tease another insult out of him, their intents hardly vicious in search of sensitive, ticklish parts. And Santiago likes to think he respects the limits at least sometimes. “But really, you might want to keep an eye on what you’re doing…”

Will immediately backs up, grumbling curses under his breath and turning back to the stove, and Pope’s laughter tumbles freely out of him, light as it rarely ever is. Luckily, the pancake is golden brown on both sides – Will puts it on a plate he hands Santiago together with a fork, but doesn’t ask him to sit, so Pope stays where he is.

“It’s good,” he announces after the first bite taken under Ironhead’s expectant stare. The pancake is nice and fluffy, only a little off with the ingredients. Definitely good for the first try.

Will extends his fingers. When after a beat of hesitation Santiago passes him the fork (really, it would take about three seconds to get another), he takes a bite of his own, looking rather unimpressed as he chews and swallows. “Yeah, not bad. Could be better, though.”

“Takes practice to get it right.” Santiago shrugs, stealing his fork back from Will and sliding the plate closer to himself. It might not be a big deal, but technically Ironhead is making him breakfast – quite fucking good, too – and he is going to enjoy it.

“So, bacon? Or maple syrup?” Will asks, giving Santiago a brief look before getting back to the pancakes.

“I don’t know, both?”

And so they eat the first half with bacon and the rest with maple syrup, one pancake after another instead of stacking them and standing at the kitchen counter instead of sitting at the table like civilized men would. Since they’re next to each other anyway, Santiago offers Will one of his earphones and skips to songs they can both enjoy. He notices Will stays a little closer than the wire between them requires; they kind of knock elbows and shoulders sometimes, making a mess in the process with dripping batter and maple syrup and not giving a fuck about any of it. And it feels good, feels nice to know what Ironhead needs at the moment and pass it to him before he has to ask. Get a smile in return if he’s lucky, crinkling eyes and all that.

So why the fuck does it feel like a goodbye.

 _Because it is_ , Santiago thinks as he watches Will wipe the counter after they’re done, sure that soon he won’t get to see much of that Ironhead, morning-soft and at ease in his own space. The relaxed curve of his spine looks fucking amazing, and to fight down the urge to press his whole front to it, Pope excuses himself from the kitchen. Work, he has work and he should get ready for it. Much calmer, he comes back a while later to the Miller brothers wrapping up a phone call.

“Benny’s excited about that fight,” Santiago comments from the doorway while putting his jacket on.

“I am, too,” Will admits. “He finally is where he’s supposed to be, out of that shit that was barely any better than street fights. Wait till you see him in the cage.”

“Can’t wait.” Santiago sends Ironhead a quick smile, looking up from where he’s kneeling to tie his shoelaces. Who would’ve thought Benny would be the one to have the most sorted out life out of all of them.

“About that, I’m gonna go see him later, I’ll need the car. Take Redfly’s truck today, okay? I’ll drop you off.”

“Again?” That’s exactly what they did yesterday, too. It’s not that they have a lot of places to be these days, so they usually make do with sharing Ironhead’s car. Santiago’s kind of forgotten he’d eventually have to do something about it. “Fuck, I should just get my own car, shouldn’t I?”

“Or we can just get the truck’s paperwork done,” Will replies without a beat of hesitation, tossing Santiago the keys that he almost doesn’t catch in momentary surprise.

“Ironhead,” Pope starts, not sure if he’s going for a warning or an explanation. “Driving that truck from time to time is one thing. But it’s not mine.”

“Not mine either, if you want to look at it that way,” Will counters smoothly, meeting Santiago’s sharp gaze with all the calm in the world. “Still, somebody has to drive that truck if we want to keep it running.”

“Yeah,” Pope scoffs quietly. “I don’t think it should be me, though.”

At that, Will pauses briefly in shrugging his jacket on to give Santiago a long, undecipherable look, and Pope already knows he should have refused straight away without trying for honesty. Then Ironhead comes closer, right into his personal space, and lifts both hands to put them on Pope’s arms, settling heavy and nice and just -- there.

“And I think it should,” he says. Simply, sincerely, making Santiago want to kiss him, if only to shut him up. “We’ll come up with something if you really don’t want it, but think about it, yeah?”

Pope feels his shoulders sag in resignation. “Jesus, Will.”

Will only smiles in answer, bright and pretty, knowing he succeeded at least in putting a thought in Santiago’s mind. He lets his hands drop and they finally get going, but even in the car Santiago can’t shake off the initial weight of yet another important choice. It seems to be a constant lately, Will just giving him options and telling him to do whatever he wants, effectively throwing Santiago into the next loop of conflicting feelings.

And he expected the retirement to be peaceful. Fuck was he wrong.

Will drives him to the parking garage and stops door to door with Redfly’s truck. Pope’s about to throw him a quick goodbye and switch to the other car, but before he can get out of his seatbelt the familiar weight of Will’s hand, warm even through his jeans, falls on his thigh just above his left knee. There’s no pressure, the certainty that Ironhead touches him with is enough to keep Santiago seated.

“Pope,” Will says in answer to Santiago’s inquiring hum. “Let’s take the truck for a drive around the city later today. If you’re sure you don’t want it by the time we get home, I promise I won’t bring it up again.”

Pope sends Will an exasperated look. “You Millers are stubborn,” he complains without any heat behind the words. “Fine, I wanted to check out that new burger place anyway. But it’s on you.”

As if Santiago could ever say no to this man.

“Sure,” Ironhead agrees readily. He takes back his hand then, but not before giving Santiago’s thigh a firm squeeze. Sure and natural in a way that comes only with regular practice and intimate knowledge of Pope’s old injuries.

Once in the truck’s driver’s seat, Santiago waits for Will’s car to disappear behind the corner and then leans his head back against the headrest, eyes closed. He wants to be told to get his shit together. He needs someone to make him promise he’ll be careful, that he won’t fuck things up for anyone. The one time that happened before, here in this truck, Tom was all about their job and the team’s safety. He wouldn’t care now that none of that matters, their careers not on the line anymore, but still, it’d be great to be simply talked out of making mistakes even before Pope can consider making them. Redfly was smart enough back then not to give Santiago shit about feeling the way he did, because there wasn’t much anyone could do about _that_ , but he made things clear about acting on those feelings or fucking up the team dynamics. It’d do Santiago good to hear something along those lines now.

The truck is silent though, and when Pope spares another moment to think back to Will from this morning, easy mirth in blue eyes and his skin warm under Santiago’s fingers, nothing interrupts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter!
> 
> You can say hi to me [here](https://copperdead.tumblr.com/).


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